Right Here Between Their Crossfire
by TheAeacusProject
Summary: After failing to meet expectations during the 2012 Olympics, the members of Great Britain's swimming program want redemption in Rio-but just how far will they go to achieve it, and at what cost? Gen 2 with some OC and Gen 1 characters making cameo appearances.
1. A Little Wooden Sign

**A/N:** I don't do this. I don't just impulsively have story ideas and then put them down on paper (figuratively) while watching the Opening Ceremonies. Except obviously I do. So here's the deal with the deal: I put this up here and if there's an overwhelming response this weekend, I'll run with it. Deal? Deal. If not, completely cool and I'll stick to other stories.

I don't own 'Skins.'

* * *

 **August 13, 2016, 9:40 P.M.**

He frowned angrily, foot tapping rapidly, as the other fifteen thousand people in the building rose to their feet, roaring in anticipation. He exhaled heavily, running a hand through dusty blonde hair before clasping both his hands behind the crown of his head. This was supposed to be a great moment—the capstone of four years of arduous training and his friends struggling against one another day after day to make this moment possible—and now it was about to fall apart instead of embodying the spirit of triumph and redemption that this competition espoused. He shook his head dejectedly and let out a loud groan. Next to him, his teammate paused from clapping to look down and glare at him. Unperturbed, he remained sitting, foot continuing to tap.

Below, on the right side of the stadium, a group of four women emerged onto the blue deck, waving up at the crowd in matching white warm-up jackets as the announcers dutifully dictated the country from which the women hailed and their names in both Portuguese and English. Momentarily, a second quartet appeared (these in luminescent orange windbreakers) and proceeded towards their designated lane to the disgruntled fan's right. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he glanced along the row of seats past his disapproving teammate to where two men in navy blue blazers stood side-by-side, heads nearly touching as they whispered furiously over the cheering. One of the men shook his head, gesturing towards where the fourth set of women (green jackets with yellow trim) was making its way across the deck.

"Are you really going to sit there when they walk out? Show some fucking respect, Jesus," implored the frustrated teammate with a roll of his eyes.

"Why should I when our girls don't even respect 'emselves, eh? It's a miracle the four of them are even competin' after this mornin'." He shook his head and stood up despite his diatribe. "Leave it them to top their own shit from London."

The final group of four women emerged from the entryway across the arena and the two teammates roared in support despite their bickering, yelling as loud as they could and interspersing whistles with their clapping. As the cheering died down and the last group took their position, huddling together and calmly removing their stark white parkas with stylized navy blue and red letters and lion's heads on the back as they tried to get some last minute stretching in, the taller of the two teammates leaned down to his childhood friend. "Don't you dare mention that race—bad luck, mate."

"Ah, come on, Freds, if theys haven't put it past 'em by this point, they never will." Nevertheless, James Cook worried his bottom lip as one of the four women stepped away from the huddle and up onto the slightly raised bulkhead with seven other competitors. "'Sides, bit late to worry about bad luck now. Just gotta go out and compete, yeah."

Freddie pressed his lips into a thin line as the first set of women received the direction to jump into the massive pool. The splash of their insertions was drowned out by the roar of the crowd. "Yeah. Just gotta compete."

Down on deck, the other three members of the relay crouched next to the chairs and receptacles for their warm-ups behind the last lane of the pool, linking pinkies in a superstitious ritual as the starter's slightly garbled voice cut through the air and silenced the crowd.

"C'mon, Ef!" one of the girls whispered encouragingly as the other two opted to forego cheering on their teammate in favor of exchanging far more poisonous words.

"Just don't make sure you don't fuck up your turn this time, yeah? I know you don't care about us, so do it for yourself if it helps us medal."

"Why don't you worry about that exchange instead of my leg, bitch?"

"Fuck's sake you two! Shove it—"

"Swimmers take your marks..."

All three fell silent as the entire aquatics center held its breath for that final, awesome moment of anticipation before the starting buzzer. Two sets of chocolate brown eyes squeezed shut behind glossy dark goggles; a set of cold blue ones remained open, staring across the small space between them.

* * *

 **Four Years Earlier**

 _BEEP_

The crowd roared and the first swimmers threw themselves backwards, arcing through the air and into the water, exploding away from the wall as they began the first leg of the competition's final event. Behind each lane, the other three members of each relay resumed their final pre-race rituals. As the competitors in the water completed their turn at the far end of the fifty meter pool, the second member of each relay approached the starting blocks, swinging arms back and forth or pressing goggles to their eyes and taking several deep breaths.

The swimmers in the water drew closer far quicker than the next relay members could comprehend and they hurriedly stepped onto the blocks, framing their approaching pinwheeling arms with their hands. From her position in lane seven, Emily Fitch saw in her peripherals other teams make their exchange and she refocused on the girl closing in on the wall in front of her.

She swung her arms in a counterclockwise rotation, stepping forward with one foot and then the second as she launched herself from the block gracefully. Her body passed right over her teammate before scything into the water. The water—a crisp twenty-seven degrees Celsius—was not a shock, but did still add to the adrenaline coursing through her system.

Water rushed past her as she executed a strong underwater pull, hands serpentining through the water into a quick snap of both feet before shooting her hands back forward as her legs bent at the knees and snapped in a near heart-shape and she broached the surface. Immediately, Emily began taking powerful breaststrokes, trying to focus on quick strokes and making sure to glide slightly at the conclusion of each stroke. She hit the far wall with both hands, dropping her elbow and shooting her opposite hand past her ear as she pushed off at an angle and continued rotating around to her stomach. One final underwater pullout and she was again gliding along the top of the water, stroke after stroke bringing her back to where she knew her sister waited anxiously on the block to dive in for the next leg.

Emily passed underneath the flags marking the final stretch of the pool and made sure to count her strokes; she hit the number she knew her sister was anticipating and snapped her kick, gliding into the wall and pressing her fingertips into the yellow and black Omega timing board. She popped up, checking their time on the board at the opposite end of the pool. She noted her split—the isolated time of her one hundred meters—and heaved herself out of the pool.

Her heart sank.

Standing there, stone-faced, was an official in a white sportcoat. "Miss, were you aware you left the block early?"

A false start?! Emily gaped, incredulous. It couldn't be. She shook her head. "No, I couldn't have."

"Unfortunately, Miss, there's not much debate." Emily continued shaking her head as she stepped down off the bulkhead onto the deck where Effy was standing, back to the competition pool, as she stared into the azure depths of the practice pool. Collapsing into the plastic chair behind their lane, Emily cradled her head in her hands, slowly peeling off her swim cap as her sister completed her useless leg of the relay and their final teammate and countrywoman stepped onto the block. Even amidst the furor growing as the Americans took aim at a world record in the lane next to them, Emily heard the splash that signaled the anchor of their relay, Michelle Richardson, was starting her leg of the race despite the outcome of their race already decided.

Emily looked up as her sister emerged from the pool, removing goggles slowly, pained eyes meeting those of her sister. Unable to hold her gaze, guilt overwhelmed her and Emily turned away. Her eyes roved across the lower levels of the seating and settled on their coach, who looked like he was struggling to contain just as much disappointment as Emily felt dripping off her with each drop of water.

Disqualified—in the Olympic final. In London.

Her eyes lingered on a British flag as she continued scanning the crowd and her efforts to contain her emotions failed. As Katie embraced her, Emily squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed into her twin's shoulder as the race completed and the crowd cheered in celebration.


	2. Shift of the Falling Tide

**A/N** : I don't own 'Skins.'

* * *

The warm-up pool could provide a place of solace for only so long until someone decided she needed to get out of the building so the staff could close the building for the evening one final time. But while it did, all she could picture was the race, the exchange, her failure. Long, languid strokes and intermittent kicks propelled Emily up and down the lane, her eyes fixated on the black lane many, many meters below while her mind replayed the nightmare of a relay from earlier in the evening. She twisted her head, inhaled quickly through the side of her mouth, and ducked her head again as someone passed her in the lane headed the opposite direction. As she took another stroke, she processed that it wasn't just any swimmer warming down with her, but the most experienced member of the team and the anchor of their relay.

She glided into the wall and pulled herself snugly against the surface, leaning on her elbow as she pried her goggles away from her eyes. As she waited for Michelle to finish her lap, she idly spun her finger a few inches below the surface of the water, gradually picking up speed until a small vortex coalesced and she let the miniature whirlpool spin for a moment before disappearing.

The other woman returned with looping strokes and slowed, easing up to the tiles and mirroring Emily's position on the wall. She gave the younger girl a sympathetic look. "You know they'll still be waiting for you no matter how long you hide."

"I know. Just...not ready to face them yet." Emily turned so she could rest both elbows on the wall and lightly kick her feet further in the lane. "I swear, 'Chelle, I thought I was right on."

"Emily..." Michelle frowned and reached out to put a hand on her bicep. "It's over. It happened; nothing to be done about it now."

"That's not true. Not at all." She shook her head emphatically, staring up into the emptying stands as fans wound their way to the exits on the final night of swimming competition. "I won't let you down in Rio, Michelle. I promise."

"I'm not going," her teammate admitted quietly.

Emily slipped before catching herself and twisting to stare wide-eyed at Michelle. "What do you mean you're not going?"

"This is it for me. I haven't told anyone else, but a club in York offered me a coaching spot, and I'm taking it. This was my third Games, Em. You don't often get a fourth."

The younger girl could feel tears of shame sting the corners of your eyes. "And I disqualified you in your last race! 'Chelle, I'm so—" A lump formed in her throat and she tried to push off the wall and kick away in frustration, but her teammate refused to allow her to wallow. She squeezed her arm and pulled her into an awkward aquatic hug.

"Not at all. As much as I hate to admit it, we weren't going to medal. 'Sides, we've got a whole 'nother week of the Games to go and no more events." Emily turned to find a gleam in Michelle's eyes.

She attempted a tearful smile. "Party Village?"

"Party Village," Michelle agreed. "Now quit crying and finish up. We've got fit foreign athletes to find."

Emily laughed before ducking under the water quickly. As she resurfaced, Michelle was already a third of the way down the lane. Repositioning her goggles, Emily fell in behind her, taking her time with her last laps and trying to push down a smile.

* * *

The apartment door opened, unleashing a tidal wave of bass, synthesizers, and snares into the hallway. The party's host seemed to ride the wave; the bottle of tequila appropriately serving as his surfboard. "Emily! And you brought Katiekins the Unstoppable! My twins!"

Emily winced as James Cook squeezed her and her sister into a crushing hug. She peeked behind his head around to her sister who was trying not to gag at the distinct smell of the agave-based spirit. They shared an eye-roll and pushed away from him.

"Are we moving the party to the corridor, or are you going to let us in?" Katie challenged. She looked around disdainfully. "'Cause it seems a bit shit out here."

"Nah, come in! Come in!" He waved for them to follow him down the short entry hall towards the kitchen and living area. "There's a lass I want to introduce you to. Track-and-field from Belarus. Didn't even know that was a place...but I just know she—"

"Cook, I swear if you make a comment involving pole vaulting in any fashion I'm going to smash that bottle of tequila over your head."

He grinned wildly and thrust the bottle towards the older twin as he turned around, leaning against the island in the kitchen. "Or you could catch up?"

Katie smirked and extended her hand for the tequila, taking a healthy pull before wincing as she handed the bottle off to Emily. A wedge of lime arced through the air towards them. Wide-eyed, Katie caught it and quickly bit into it as Emily took her turn with the tequila. Katie narrowed her eyes at the girl sitting on the counter in the corner who was lobbing citrus fruit pieces around the room like they were artillery and the party was a battlefield of sorts. Leaving her sister's side, she weaved through several athletes she didn't recognize all clustered near the refrigerator and threw her piece of lime in the girl's direction.

"Are you mad? There's a reason I swim and don't play fucking softball; don't throw things at me, yeah?"

Effy snorted and poured them each other shot as their teammate changed the track at the impromptu DJ station in the corner of the living room. A cheer rose from several people (countered by some scattered groans) as the new track started blasting through the small apartment. Effy gestured for Katie to take her shot and raised hers.

"What'd you say we get so monumentally fucked we forget all about that shit relay today?"

Katie paused. It wasn't that Effy was making light of her sister's faux pas; not one of them swim a personal best in their fifty and they came up just a shade over a three seconds slower than the British record set three years earlier in Rome. Inwardly, though, Katie felt a pang of remorse. Just being able to stake claim to having one of the best times in the world would have been an achievement in front of the home crowd. The ignominy of a disqualification would hang over them like an ineluctable thunderstorm until they could establish a different legacy. But they couldn't do that tonight. Katie took a steadying breath and smiled. She clinked her glass to Effy's. "To getting monumentally fucked."

The bass dropped and two empty shot glasses hit the counter.

On the other side of the kitchen, Emily paused before taking her third shot and pivoted with a frown directed towards their host. Cook was leaning well into the personal space of the Eastern European woman trapped between him and the island. Perhaps 'trapped' wasn't accurate, Emily reconsidered as she was definitely returning a sloppy kiss with equal fervor.

"Cook! Doesn't she have, like, an event tomorrow?"

The two paused as the tall blonde woman looked at the English girl with a haughty look. "Is part of routine. He do me, I win."

Cook's eyebrows waggled insatiably. "You heard the woman, Emilio. If you'll 'scuse us, we've got ta practice her falls. Mattress work?"

"Da," she cooed. Cook whooped and took her by the hand, winding past Emily towards the bedroom.

"It's a twin bed harder than a park bench!" Emily said exasperatedly as Cook shut the door behind them. Moments later there was a girlish scream just audible over the pounding music. "Fucking hell."

In the opposite corner, Effy watched the proceedings inscrutably, then abruptly hopped off the counter. She pressed her fifth into Katie's arms and stalked into the living room. As Katie watched (she wished she could feel an ounce of shock, but after several years training and travelling with Effy, she wasn't sure anything the brunette did could shock her), a German butterflier said something Katie couldn't catch over the music and Effy settled herself onto his lap and immediately took his face in her hands and kissed him fiercely.

"Jesus, Effy," Katie muttered and took advantage of the liquor in her hand.

"It's Katie, right?"

She looked up to find a towering American backstroker with a beer in hand leaning casually against the island a couple feet away.

"So what if it is?"

He smirked. "Then Cook was underselling." She tossed a wedge of lime to him underhanded, which he caught. When she only poured one shot, his brow furrowed. "We're not doing shots then?"

Narrowing her eyes predatorily, Katie grinned ferally. "Oh no, we are. Me first."

Chuckling he stepped away from the island and gummed the lime as she downed the shot, meeting him halfway with a hand tugging him closer to suck the lime into her own mouth.

Grabbing Cook's abandoned tequila and wiping the rim with the hem of her shirt, Emily took a pull and made her way out to the balcony, shutting the glass door behind her to escape the music. Emily smiled softly upon finding, to her slight surprise, the balcony already occupied by somebody else.

"Too loud in there, Jay?"

Jonah Jeremiah Jones looked up from where he was sat in the corner, arms resting on his knees. He offered a hesitant wave. "Hi, Emily. It is rather obnoxious in there."

The girl looked back over her shoulder, unfazed—if slightly disappointed at how quickly it seemed to happen—finding her sister and Effy both lip-locked with foreign athletes. "Yes, it is. A bit."

JJ stood slowly and stepped over to rest his arms on the rail of the balcony, standing next to the shorter girl as they stared out over Olympic Village. She noted the three watches on his left wrist and smiled at the quirky habit he'd been following ever since their days as classmates in secondary school. Something in the darkness, at the edge of a pool of yellowish light cast by a lamp post, caught her eye.

"Jay, is...something moving down there?"

He turned and leaned over the railing, squinting to make out what the source of Emily's curiosity. Suddenly, a pair of people stumbled out of the shrubbery: a guy buckling his belt and a girl tugging at her shirt and running fingers through tousled hair. "It would appear they were copulating."

"You don't say," Emily replied dryly. She took a swig of tequila and winced. "Sorry for even noticing."

"If you don't mind my observing, I'm surprised you're not off with someone yourself. What happened to that gymnast..."

She rolled her eyes. "Svetlana decided I wasn't exciting enough. I found her in the lounge a couple nights ago with her tongue in some South American girl's throat."

"I'm sorry about that. If Cook and I need to—"

Emily laughed and put a steadying hand on his arm. "It's alright, JJ. There are, like, what a couple thousand women competing at the Games?"

"4,847," he stated instantly.

"Right. Point is, I'll manage."

They looked out over the Village, watching as small groups or pairs of athletes wandered around the paths, enjoying the London evening. Emily found herself enthralled by a small fountain near their building.

"You're thinking about the race," supplied JJ after a moment.

"Can you blame me? I disqualified us."

"You left 0.11 seconds before Effy touched the wall. It's a miracle they even noticed."

"Did you notice?"

He shrugged. "As manager, statistician, and videography coordinator it's my job to dissect all your races, Emily. But if I hadn't been zoomed in and watching, no probably not. The three of you will have more races, though."

Emily frowned and looked at JJ, who was blinking rapidly as his hands clenched nervously around the railing. "How long have you known about Michelle? JJ?"

"I...I overheard her talking to coach. It's interesting, isn't it? The two of them leaving the team together to go coach in York."

Emily felt like she'd been doused with a bucket of ice water. Trembling, she turned to find a stricken JJ staring down at her. "What did you just say, JJ?"

"I think I need to get a drink," he stammered.

She shook her head vehemently. "You're staying put right here. I'll get your bloody mango juice. Christ, coach is leaving too? Shit. Hold this." Emily stormed back inside, leaving JJ by himself on the balcony holding the tequila.

She slammed the refrigerator door shut, the half gallon of mango juice in hand, and turned to find Michelle just arriving to the party and smiling cheerily at her.

"Ems! You guys are already here! What do you say we—"

"Tell me you're not fucking him."

"What?" The older woman took a step back, fury roiling off the smaller girl. "Emily, what are you talking about?"

"Coach! Is that why you're quitting, then? So the two of you can shag without remorse?"

Katie stepped over to her sister's side after an apologetic kiss and a promise to her night's catch that she'd be back. "Emsy, what's wrong?"

"'Chelle decided she'd rather freestyle with Coach Chambers than swim freestyle with us."

Her twin whirled on their teammate, brown eyes flashing. "That right?"

"It's not like that!"

"Oh I think it is," retorted Katie. "So you can pretty much fuck off, now."

The door to the bedroom slammed open, revealing a haggard yet happy looking Cook. "Oi, this is a party; no fighting!" He slammed the door shut again. It opened briefly for him to poke his head out and add, pointing at one of his teammates, "But if it does, mate: video, yeah?"

The door slammed shut. Michelle, who hadn't turned around at his intrusion, made a disgusted face at the ashen expression sported by both twins. "He was naked wasn't he?"

"Yeah," they choked out in unison.

"Not terrifying enough to get me off the hook?"

"Not by a long shot," supplied Effy as she led the German by the hand down the entry hall and out the door. Michelle watched them go, baffled, and turned back to the twins.

"I'm sorry; it just happened."

"You know what just happened?" Katie spat. "You left this party, like, now."

"Emily?" Michelle turned to the younger twin hoping for some sympathy, but found none in betrayed brown eyes. Shoulders sagging in defeat, Michelle turned and followed Effy out of the party.

"I wasn't sure if something happened, so I—" JJ stopped himself as he innocently stumbled into the stunned and very unparty-like atmosphere of the kitchen. Music still thumped through the small apartment, but the energy associated with it was noticeably lacking. Emily extended the mango juice to him silently.

As he took the carton, she headed for the door as well. JJ frowned. "This was about Michelle, wasn't it?" Katie nodded and he muttered as an afterthought, "Bobbins."

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope everyone is enjoying the incredible swimming (and all the other events) in Rio right now! If you're looking for something to do between events, or on commercial breaks...maybe read and review? Thanks! Take care!


	3. The Kids with the Vicious Smiles

**A/N:** Don't own it. Obviously.

* * *

The official announcement that their coach was resigning as Head Coach of both the national team and the swimming National Centre for Swimming at the University of Bath came three days after the closing ceremonies. Neither Emily nor Katie saw Michelle once during the final week or so of the Games, opting instead to explore the rest of the Village and get to know the rest of the athletes. 'Embodying the Olympic spirit as gracious hosts.' At least, that's what they told their parents by phone the night after a party that moved from Effy's apartment to the pool beneath their building where a series of increasingly ridiculous drinking relays became a new Olympic event—albeit a frighteningly dangerous one as the night continued.

And while Effy herself seemed to disappear for days on end, it was Emily who found herself struggling to recall exactly how many different athletes' rooms she visited during the last week, or didn't visit as the myriad of pools, lounges, and secluded alcoves along the Village paths offered equally (almost) private retreats, several of which were actually discovered by Cook or her sister and subsequently used for her own nefarious purposes, though never in an overlapping fashion. Emily's embarrassment stirred only after she saw the incredulous look on Katie's face after she tried to claim her tally was only 'a couple...three at the most.'

The conversation ended when she immediately followed that up with an inquiry as to how many members of men's U23 football teams Katie met and her older sister promptly pulled over and told her to walk the rest of the way home.

Nevertheless, it was a wake up call she never thought she'd need. Emily knew Katie was trying to look out for her after seeing her manic dedication to preparation, practice, and precision of her stroke for the last several years. Part of Emily—a small part—wanted to use that as justification for letting loose for a week in the world's most exclusive club: the Olympic Village. Now, though, after the Games were done and things were settling back into a normal routine, she couldn't help but regret not actually taking the time to build any sort of lasting friendship with other athletes or visitors or fans. _The true meaning of being the host nation_ , a guilty voice in the back of her mind chided.

She was still second guessing her decision-making over a month later as Katie pulled the car into the car park at the Sports Village nestled in the middle of the University of Bath and got out with a huff. Emily followed, grabbing her swim bag covered in dangling deck passes from all manner of national and international meets, and silently following her sister along the row of cars and into the aquatic center. Her mind was wandering unbidden to the disappointing result of both their final event and her earlier lackluster performances in both individual breaststroke events. Katie slammed shut her locker and stormed out, headed for the classroom, leaving a pair of stunned teammates in her wake. The two barely missed making the Olympic team, but were long-time club teammates of both twins.

"Emily? What's got Katie on the warpath?" one asked hesitantly.

The younger twin sighed as she slowly closed her own locker and gestured for them to lead the way to the classroom as well. "Guess who decided to drop by last night to make sure we were properly settled into our flat even though we've only been there a week?"

The second teammate winced. "The Legend herself?"

"Mmmhmm. And when she saw that Katie's bronze was prominently displayed in front of some of her golds and blue ribbons from club meets, she told her no self-respecting member of our family should ever celebrate being recognized as a loser."

"Christ."

"Jesus."

"Yeah," Emily agreed softly. "Apparently tearing us down for the 17 years we actually lived at home wasn't enough; now she has to do it on visits."

They entered the classroom and filtered into seats next to Katie. From their spot in one of the back rows on the right, Emily could take stock of the entire rest of their club team was milling around or filling into seats of their own. Across the room, near the front, she saw JJ sitting with his massive notebook of time standards, splits, and time standards, scribbling furiously. The three of them were the only members of the summer's Olympic roster that trained in Bath as Cook and his childhood friend, the longer distance freestyler Freddie Mclair, trained further to the north at the Loughborough National Centre and Effy still made the longer trip south from Bristol to train with Plymouth Leander. On their side, a couple rows up, the club's youngest female member of the Podium Potential group sat by herself, arms crossed, staring straight ahead at the empty smartboard at the head of the classroom. Only 14, Zelda Tate was heralded as the future of British swimming, having set nearly a half dozen national records in her age group in the past year.

As the last 'next big thing,' Emily and Katie were hardly impressed. But, Emily knew the girl was talented and they would need a new freestyler for both the medley relay and the shorter of the freestyle relays now that Michelle was out of the picture. Maybe she was the answer?

The door burst open before Emily could ask for her sister's opinion on the prodigy. A man with unruly hair and a wild beard—more grizzly bear than man it seemed at first glance—stomped into the room and stood next to the whiteboard. A second, more docile (but equally bearded) man followed in his wake.

"Right, you lot: shut up." Katie rolled her eyes as Emily made a show of looking around at the silent gathering of swimmers. The first man continued on, "Now that you've got your traps shut, why don't we keep 'em that way. Never can stand the shite you all seem to come up with at the best of times.

"You all know who I am, so let's just get down to it. As you know, I may have made a wee bit of a mistake with the last coach—"

"Yeah, Chambers couldn't keep it in his pants," called out one of the older university swimmers Emily often saw partying with Cook on trips to international meets.

The National Performance Director wiped a meaty hand across his face. "Be that as it may, he was a damn good coach when it was. Anyway, he's fucked off to God knows where, but I believe I've found a more than suitable replacement. This is Coach Darrick Mercer. I'll leave him to do the warm and fuzzy introduction; I've gotta run."

Shaking the new coach's hand, the Irish-born head of Great Britain's competitive swimming organization left the room mumbling incoherent curses under his breath. Their new coach stepped forward into the center of the room and checked his watch.

"Hi there. I'm proud to be chosen as your new coach, and for those of y'all also competing on the national team leading up to Rio, well...I'm sure we'll get to know each other real well," he began in a drawl. "But from what my watch is tellin' me, we've already wasted a good twenty-five minutes that could've been spent in the pool. Which is a damn shame 'cause I had a good one written out for today. Ah, well," he paused and smiled evilly. "I'll just put that one in my back pocket."

"Sorry, where're you from, exactly?" asked Katie skeptically.

"Kentucky. And I take it you're one of the Fitches?"

"I'm Katie," she waved her hand vaguely in Emily's direction. "That's my sister. I thought they only, like, farm and race horses in Kentucky."

"Well, Katie, tell ya what. Y'all can think of any other questions you want to ask me while you're swimming warm up. Last one in the pool has to swim the entire warm up butterfly—"

The team erupted in a chorus of groans at their new coach's audacity, but quickly shoved back their chairs.

"Now just hold up one second there," he continued. "Last one in swims fly for warm ups, but I'll cut the main set in half if Emily beats her sister in a hero swim. Think you two can handle that?"

"Absolutely," Emily growled, glaring at her sister and storming out of the classroom to go get changed.

Forty-five minutes later, Emily found herself atop the block in lane 5, her sister on her right in lane 4 as both stood upright trying to regulate their breathing. The majority of the team was clustered at the far end of the fifty meter pool, although a handful were waiting eagerly along the length of the deck to walk with them during their race or standing behind the blocks. Katie shook her arms violently, creating a loud snapping noise each time as she glared down the length of the pool. Emily pressed her hands to her cap before placing her hands on her knees and turning to look at her new coach, who was standing in the corner with an ear-to-ear grin on his face and blue eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Alright alright alright! Here are the stakes. Twin versus twin; sister against sister; your practice fate on the line. A one hundred freestyle. If Emily wins, our main set tonight will be done twice through, not four times. If Katie wins, she gets to write tomorrow's practice since she obviously thinks she's actually the one in charge here."

"Excuse me!" Katie's objection was drowned out by the whistling and cheering of the rest of the team.

Darrick put a hand in the air to quiet the team. "Let me be very clear about this: We are not just a team. This is your family; for some of you that's more true than others. But I promise that you will spend more time with each other over the next four years than you do your actual family. I don't care if y'all can't stand one another, cheer for different soccer teams, or want to strangle the person next to you for hitting your hand as they swim past in the other lane. You will respect one another, and you will support one another every single day." He turned his gaze directly to the twins standing on the blocks. "Especially if it's your actual sibling."

Silence hung over the pool. Emily hung her head and stared down at the edge of the block, visualizing her start and trying not to smile at the expectations clearly delineated by their new coach. Next to her, Katie's cheeks flushed with shame that their new coach was willing to set such a blunt tone and call her out on the first day of practice. She waggled her fingertips. _I'll fucking show him. Bring it on, Ems._

"Take your marks..."

Both girls grabbed the edge of the block, arms straining as they pulled straight up and waited.

Darrick whistled sharply and they sprang from the starting blocks simultaneously, their reflexes honed by years of their dad doing similar drills in the pool at his gym for hours on end. As they hit the water in long, sharp streamlines, hands thrust out in front, the rest of the team exploded in shouts, cheers, and whistles of their own.

Katie knifed into the water and immediately began undulating, snapping her feet up and down together in the powerful dolphin kick upon which she relied so heavily in her best stroke, the butterfly. As she glided up towards the surface, she switched to a rapid flutter kick, each foot snapping up and down in an alternating fashion. She felt herself about to breach the water's surface and brought her left arm down along her side and as her head crested, that same arm reached the end of its pull and she flicked her hand around, her arm slicing through the air arrow-like before plunging back into the water out in front of her as she began her freestyle strokes, feet still pounding away behind her.

She kept her head perfectly in line with the rest of her body, finally tucking her chin towards her left shoulder after several strokes to take a quick breath and check where her sister was: as her goggled left eye broke the surface, she saw Emily taking a breath to her right simultaneously: they were neck-and-neck after just under half the first length of the pool.

 _Kick kick kick kick kick...faster...DO NOT LOSE_.

Emily could hear her teammates cheering as she and her sister tore through the final third of the pool and approached the turn. She noted the large black T on the bottom several meters beneath her, counted one more stroke, and ducked her head, whipping her feet up and over her head in a compact, lightning-quick flip turn. Emily felt her feet land solidly on the wall for just long enough to powerfully springboard her the opposite direction and then she was hurtling through the water again, ears squeezed by her arms as she rotated from her side onto her stomach with several long butterfly kicks.

Breaking the plane, she took two strokes and peeked briefly as she took a breath, gauging where her sister was in the lane next to her. Unsurprisingly, Katie was matching her stroke for stroke, each of them building up the tempo of their strokes as they passed the midpoint of the pool and closed in on the finish. Emily felt the muscles in her shoulders and arms burning, her lungs straining in need of more oxygen. Gritting her teeth, she refocused on the black line along the bottom and pushed for just that little extra bit of speed.

 _Rotate, catch, pull...Rotate, catch, pull...DON'T LET HER BEAT YOU EM._

Coach Mercer calmly strode over to stand at the edge of the pool, intently watching the twins as they kicked even faster; extended their reach as much as they could. He studied their strokes as they passed under the flags at the five meter mark and his grin slipped away as his stare bored down on lanes four and five. The cheers of their teammates rose to a fever pitch. The twins took their last couple strokes and disappeared just underneath the water as they lunged for the wall.

The centre fell silent as both girls resurfaced and looked around expectantly. They took gasping breaths and draped themselves over the lane lines for support as they peered over at the coach for the verdict.

"Well?" Katie peeled her goggles off and glared across the empty lanes. "Who won?"

"Great race, ladies. Outstanding! Everyone back in the pool, we've got a practice to finish." The coach was grinning again as he pulled the folded up printout with the practice sets on it out of his back pocket.

Katie, however, refused to go quietly. "No, that's rubbish. One of us won! Which one was it?"

Zelda hopped into Emily's lane and patted her on the back, "That was a great swim. It really did look like you tied."

Emily smiled weakly and pushed off the lane line. "Katie never ties; she wins or she gets revenge."

* * *

As the fall wore on into the winter, the practices became more and more intense, often lasting well over the allotted two hours each afternoon. Their new coach was exacting and extremely vocal about what he liked and didn't like about each of their swims. Few practices went by when at least two or three swimmers were reprimanded for not swimming up to their potential or pushing their limits. Emily swore she heard the phrase, "Get comfortable being uncomfortable," in her sleep at least three times a week and she even heard Katie mumbling something about turnover rate one night after she fell asleep on the sofa watching television. It was the fairness and personal attention displayed by Coach Mercer that quickly won over Emily and her teammates, however. Nobody was immune to his wrath, nor did a single outstanding set or practice performance seem to escape his attention without a word of encouragement. Moreover, after announcing early in the fall that the next big meet he expected them to race in wouldn't be until the following summer in Barcelona, the rigors of practice would have become too much of a burden if not for the moments of levity and praise the coach wound into their weekly repetitions.

It was the morning swims, however, that became infamous throughout the club. One particularly frigid morning, at the toe-numbing hour of a quarter five, Katie and Emily led the women's Podium Potential group through a stretching routine on deck behind the starting blocks as Darrick strode through the double doors from the hall with a thermos of coffee in one hand, a handful of workouts in the other, and a large grin on his face.

"Coach, nobody should ever look that cheerful in the morning," groused Katie as she stretched her quad.

He chuckled and began laying a workout on the block behind each lane. "Good morning to you too, Miss Fitch."

As the team was gathering behind each lane, putting on swim caps and doing their last individual stretches, Emily picked up the workout and began reading through the main set.

"Holy shit," Zelda exclaimed from over her shoulder. While the girl may have been three years Emily's junior, she had at least twice that many inches on her in height. "Coach, you're not serious. This is insane."

Katie snatched the practice away from one of the boys in a different lane and scanned it quickly. "Jesus, fuck. Darrick, this will kill us!"

Their coach grinned maniacally. "There's nothin' like a lil' death in the mornin'."

By the end of the day, the quote was written on the motivation boards in each locker room, never to be erased. And as Emily sat in front of her locker looking at the board—trying to will her legs to not feel like jelly after they inexplicably finished the allegedly deadly practice—she couldn't help but smile.

* * *

 **A/N** : Back to back days with updates don't happen, like, ever. So don't get used to it-just forewarning everyone. But when ideas and words just start pouring onto the page, what's one to do? **Irma** , **Marsupial** , and **mswitsend**...you three rock.

Final note...like all good works of fiction, there is always an element of truth involved. And also exaggeration. Usually a lot more of that.


	4. Riding with the Devil

**A/N:** Firstly, I hope everyone enjoyed the amazing swimming on display over the weekend-and are otherwise soaking up the daily awesomeness of these Games! Four days isn't quite back-to-back, but it's not terrible, right? Maybe? If you're enjoying things (or not), please let me know in that magic box down at the end of the chapter. Huge thank you to anyone who's fav'd/followed/reviewed so far! You're all amazing, truly. I mean that. Oh! And speaking of, to **guest** : I'm sorry about the teasing (well, actually, I'm not) but rest assured that at some point in the near-ish future Naomi will appear in our little tale. I mean reappear. Just because her name wasn't mentioned doesn't mean she hasn't shown up already! And in answer to **Irma's** question, I've known some shorter swimmers who were very successful, but generally having a longer reach can help greatly. More of a plus than a prerequisite I feel. Cheers!

Oh, yeah. I don't own 'Skins.' No way, no how.

* * *

For once, the smell of chlorine was not oppressive in the aquatic centre. Likewise, the rhythmic splashes of six-beat kicks and hands spearing into the water competed to fill the air of the fifty meter pool. The blue and white discs of lane lines bobbed up and down as swimmers surged past in single-file processions ten seconds apart of one another—give or take, as over the course of each lap the distance opened or closed partially as they sped up or faded. Assistant coaches prowled the length of the pool, fastidiously observing each swimmer's form from their kicks to the way their hands entered the water to the position of their head relative to the rest of their body's posture to their breathing to their catch underwater as they pulled their body through the pool. At one end, roaming behind the starting blocks, coach Mercer oversaw the festive practice, laughing and talking amicably with the head coach from the National Training Centre in Loughborough. Nevertheless, he never failed to notice something correctable in each swimmer's form, bearing down on someone in lane 4 (the fastest male practice lane) as he finished their one hundred after seeing them spend part of his first fifty taking one stroke on .his back, then rolling over for one on his stomach and so on until executing a flip-turn and returning back down the lane swimming breaststroke followed by freestyle.

"Cook! I don't mind if you decide to work in an IM hundred to mix it up so long as you don't miss your interval, but corkscrew is NOT one of the four strokes."

"Aww, come on, Darrick! It's Christmas Eve; let us have some fun! It's bad enough we have ta look at and smell that for three hours." He pointed over at the open door into the glassed-in conference room before pushing off the wall on time for the next one hundred meters.

"He's right; that's bloody torture," affirmed the next swimmer in the lane before leaving ten seconds after Cook.

The coach turned his attention to the women in lane 5 and crossed his arms. "Katie, if I have to tell you another time to not breath every two strokes, I'll start setting a maximum number of breaths per fifty so you can't do it at all."

"Christ, it was just one fifty," she grumbled as Emily touched the wall and caught the end of the conversation. Katie ducked her head underwater, leaving the wall for her next lap as Emily rolled her eyes behind blue polarized goggles.

"And the one before that, and the one before that, and before that..." She departed for her next one hundred as Darrick laughed at her commentary. He strode up and down the lanes, offering encouragement and constructive criticism to other swimmers as they arrived at the wall before their next one hundred. A shade over a minute later, he found himself standing over lane 4 once more as Cook coasted into the wall.

"I'm not fucking kidding, Coach. Close the door or let me feed the Cookie Monster!"

"Still more than a few hundreds left, Cook. Ready...go!"

The team was in the middle of their by invitation-only holiday training camp: the best young swimmers from clubs throughout Great Britain coalescing for two demanding weeks of two-a-day practices as well as daily dryland weight training or other cross-training practices while living in the accommodations of the Sports Training Village in cap the first week and a half of practices before giving them several days off for Christmas, Darrick unveiled to their chagrin his traditional holiday practice: a main set of 100 100's—a behemoth of a practice lasting nearly three hours. To offset the demands of the practice and incorporate a bit of holiday cheer, however, he arranged for parents of the younger swimmers invited (and spouses of the older) to join in the preparation of a massive breakfast buffet to be held immediately following the brutal training regimen. The music blasting through the speakers lining the ceiling braces and walls was a capitulation to certain outspoken swimmers insisting it would (in their words) 'motivate the fuck out of them' and 'make this miserable shit of a practice well exciting.'

As more swimmers arrived at the wall and then abruptly turned around on their intervals and continued swimming, Coach Mercer made his way over to the offending conference room. He stepped through the doorway and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes and smiling.

"Now that is an absolutely delicious smell!"

"Why thank you, dear," a middle-aged woman with a kind smile nodded in appreciation as she carried a massive platter of bacon and sausages around the far side of the table situated in the center of the room. She placed the platter on a warming pad near the beginning of a massive buffet line along the far wall and turned, wiping her hands on her apron. "This is just a lovely tradition you're beginning and I think they're all going to enjoy it very much."

"That ungrateful pack of fuckers? They'd just as soon never see us again," groused a man making a hash on a skillet to Darrick's right, his back to the room, but his senses innately attuned to the voice of his partner.

The coach chuckled as he made his way around several volunteers setting out plasticware, condiments, and mugs along the length of the table. He leaned over the skillet as the gruff man tossed the potatoes and other ingredients lightly, plucking a cube of potato out and tasting it. "Not bad, Kieran. I expected far worse."

The National Performance Director snorted. "Arse. Should've made you be in here doin' the cookin', not me. You're lucky Gina thought this a good idea."

"Not just me, love. Every parent, 'cept you maybe." The woman came over and quickly pecked his cheek. "Who doesn't want the chance to support their child on a holiday when they're doing one of the longest practices of the year?"

"Me! Seeing as I have neither a child practicing or much of a mind to celebrate..."

Coach snapped his fingers as if remembering something out of the blue. "Ms. Campbell, I actually meant to ask you about your daughter's absence."

The NPD added some bacon into his hash and mixed it around in the skillet while interrupting, "Right you are separating her from me."

Gina Campbell swatted his arm and rolled her eyes magnificently. She motioned for Darrick to follow her as she picked up a bowl of fruit and carried to the main table. "I'm afraid that's not something I can help with. I asked her to come home for the holiday season and, in her own delicate way, told me to 'Tell those NTC fucks to shove their invitation up their own arse.' I tried to tell her about number agreement, but she hung up on me and international calls can be _so_ expensive. She didn't take kindly to being overlooked for the team last summer."

Darrick shook his head in disappointment and slowly walked back out onto the pool deck, watching the practice continue. "I had nothing to do with that, and neither did Kieran; you know that. Buy-in: it's so vital to building a competitive program and we need everyone onboard now. That's why this training camp is crucial not only to Barcelona next summer, but all the championships between now and Rio."

Gina stood silently next to the coach, watching swimmers move back and forth along the lanes. "A few years ago, I opened my house to anyone needing refuge. My grand experiment in communal living. Naturally, my daughter absolutely loathed it and it was almost too late when I finally realized opening my home to strangers wasn't worth losing the only family I loved and cared for more than myself. She's never been one to open herself up to something larger than herself; she can't see the point and while I could go on all day about her being an angsty snob, I can't blame her for being jaded after pushing her away. The only person she could count on to support her ended up ostracizing her worse than anyone her own age and it's a shitty feeling being able to admit that, though not hard since she decided she'd rather take a gap year and train as far from me as possible all over Europe. All I've gotten are some emails confirming I'm her emergency contact from a club in Cyprus, then one in Spain, and last week one in Amsterdam.

"What you're doing, trying to mold these teens and young adults into a family, bringing together the best of all the clubs and having them train together and live together and bond...I wish she'd buy into it, but..."

"But she needs to find her own way," supplied Darrick, his drawl lightly dripping from each syllable. He put a hand on Gina's shoulder and furrowed his brow. "I want her on the team. I won't force it, though."

The blonde woman smiled gratefully and turned back to look at the pool. "Just there, in lane 5, those two have a nearly identical stroke."

Darrick chuckled. "The Fitch twins. Don't let them hear you say that, though. They insist otherwise. Katie will tell you hers is perfect; Emily lets her swimming speak for itself"

Gina hummed in thought. "I'd best get back to corralling this lot if we're to have everything prepared by the time practice is done."

"Good luck," the coach said and headed back to his post at the head of the lanes. Just as he was arriving, Cook cruised into the wall and promptly jumped out of the water with a whoop of excitement and accomplishment. "Cook! Get back in the water, son: you're nowhere near done!"

The young man wagged a finger. "That's where you're wrong, mate. I can't do a single one more—it'd ruin it!"

Darrick rolled his eyes. "How many?"

"That was lucky 69! Oi, Kieran! I'm ready for that hash now," he shouted towards the conference room.

The NPD stuck his head out of the open doorway and yelled across the pool, "Like fuck you are! Get your arse back in the pool 'fore I have to kick it in their meself."

"Cheers, Kieran!"

And with that, the coach roaring with laughter behind him, Cook dove back into the lane on time for one hundred number 70.

"Tosser," muttered Katie in the lane next to him as she quickly caught the eye of Effy on the opposite side of the boy's lane. The reserved girl flipped off Cook as he swam away, though she knew he couldn't see him, then pushed off the wall with Katie as they began their own hundred.

* * *

There was a light drizzle falling as the van cruised up the M1, Emily Fitch gripping the wheel with both hands as if the harder she squeezed the plastic, the faster they would arrive in Leeds. She knew this was infeasible, however. Rather, her death grip was owed in part to the recent attempts of one James Cook to assume driving responsibilities from his spot on the bench directly behind the driver. She was afraid that, despite not making any sudden movements for the last two minutes, he would suddenly lunge forward and attempt to guide their vehicle off the highway as he'd done twice already since they picked up Freddie and him in Loughborough on their way north.

In the passenger seat, Freddie was adamantly shaking his head. "No can do, mate."

"Aww come on!" Cook looked around the back of the van, an expression approaching incredulity on his face. "It's one song!"

"Cook! Just because we're driving to Leeds does NOT mean we are listening to Tubthumping." Katie rolled her eyes without looking up from her magazine on the bench next to him.

"But—"

"No Chumbawumba," agreed JJ from the very back row as he flipped a page in the first book of the fantasy series he was currently attempting to read over the course of the meet. "You'll just keep replaying it over and over until we reach Leeds, which means there's a 99% chance someone in this car kills you before we get there out of sheer annoyance."

"And the other one percent?" Cook turned in his seat and raised his eyebrows. He resumed scrolling through his music library towards the artists beginning with 'C.'

"Emily crashes to mercifully save us from having to listen to it one more time," Effy deadpanned from next to JJ.

The van erupted in laughter as he crossed his arms and turned back to the front.

"Cook, we're just leaving Sheffield as it is; why not compromise on Arctic Monkeys?" Emily tried to extend an olive branch—and ensure she wouldn't have to fend off future backseat hijacking attempts.

"It's not a compromise if it's nothing close to what I want!" he protested. Like a dog distracted by a new toy, his head snapped up and he stared at a sign as they flew past. Slowly, he turned back to the other swimmers with a massive grin. "I have a compromise."

"Absolutely fucking not," Emily insisted, checking her side mirror as she switched lanes to pass a particularly slow Citroën. "We're running late as it is!"

"You haven't even heard what my offer is."

Effy had also seen the sign along the side of the highway and smirked in the very back. "How old are you, Cook?"

"Is taking one detour so much to ask?"

Katie finally looked up from her magazine to unscrew the cap of a bottled water. "Christ, can you shut up for, like, a fucking second? Just take the detour, Emily."

The response was instantaneous. "Shut up, Kay."

"Where'd you want to go so badly all of a sudden?" Freddie asked, his voice trailing off as he caught sight of another sign for the exit in his peripherals as he turned around. "Oh. No."

"Ah, come on! It'd be fun!"

Freddie locked eyes with the girl in the very back of the van. "He's nineteen going on twelve, to answer your question." He turned his gaze to Cook. "And we are _not_ making a detour to Penistone just because you're an immature ass."

Katie did a spit-take and turned a scathing glare at Cook. "You're having a fucking laugh? That's not a real place."

"Is too!" He strained to look out the window as another sign approached. "There! Look, just take a fuckin' peek, princess."

The van fell silent as they all watched the sign pass by. The exit came and went; Emily never slowed. Rain splattered across the windshield and eventually, Freddie snatched up the iPod resting in a cupholder, an auxiliary cable snaking from its headphone jack to the radio input, and queued up alt-J's debut album, the new Leeds-originating band's distinct sound rippling through the van. Thirty seconds later, it received competition from a completely different stereo system.

"I get knocked down, but I get up again/You're never going to—FUCK! JESUS!" Cook howled mid-verse and doubled over, cradling his crotch. Freddie whirled around to find him whimpering, JJ gaping like a fish out of water, and Effy staring out the window as if nothing happened out of the ordinary. The lanky young adult turned his gaze to Katie, who was nonchalantly flipping a page of her gossip mag.

"You're welcome," she supplied without looking up. Freddie turned around smiling ruefully and began drumming the beat on the dash.

* * *

The competition pool at the John Charles Centre for Sport was churning as over a hundred swimmers from clubs across Great Britain and even a smattering of clubs from the Continent warmed up the next morning in anticipation for that day's events. The eight lanes of the pool looked like compartmentalized salmon runs as members of each team jumped in and sprinted back and forth in bursts, practicing their flip turns, their finishes, or counted strokes to ensure they were familiar with the pool before their races. With each club only being allowed a single lane, each lane was nearly overflowing with swimmers.

Emily touched the wall and squirmed into the corner near the lane line, allowing a bit of room for other swimmers to execute their flip turns and continue swimming. She rested her elbow in the gap between the deck and the top of the timing board to remove her goggles. She blinked several times and watched the rest of the Bath group complete their warm ups. She had no events the first day of the meet, but Darrick insisted they all get in and warm up to get acclimated to the pool, advice with which she couldn't argue. She hopped out and stood behind the block, adjusting the angled rear foot rest for her height before hopping up and letting her arms dangle as her sister and others climbed out to form a line behind the lane. Emily pressed her goggles back on her eyes and waggled her fingers in anticipation.

Moments later, Cook touched the wall in the lane next to hers. He looked up, seeing Emily about to go, and broke into song as Darrick told her to take her mark.

"He sings a song that reminds him of the good times/He sings a song—"

Darrick whistled in place of a starting buzzer and Emily left the block far slower than usual as she struggled to hold in laughter. She splashed into the water, did several dolphin kicks, and broke out with a furious flurry of freestyle strokes. She shut down and floated midway down the pool, rolling over to flick him off before casually swimming to the far wall and climbing out. She watched Zelda and then Katie do their starts amidst cries for lager drinks and whiskey drinks before Darrick issued some sort of threat that forced Cook underwater and down the length of the pool towards Emily in a sprint.

He leveraged himself out and stood next to the smaller girl as she looked at him expectantly. "What? He threatened to unleash your sister on me again and I ain't takin' that chance again, not after yesterday...fuck me."

"What?" Emily frowned and followed his gaze as he stared past her shoulder down the wall towards the stands lining one side of the aquatic centre. Her frown of confusion quickly gave way to an expression of near-outright objectification. On the deck at the last lane of the pool, a swimmer from one of the European clubs was standing talking to her coach and wringing the excess water out of her swim cap. She nodded at advice neither Emily nor Cook could hear before craning her neck back and running her fingers through shoulder length blonde hair. Emily felt her heart rate accelerate furiously and her eyes raked down the woman's body, following the lines of her midnight blue practice suit until something else caught her attention and she couldn't help but stare: along her hip, just beneath the curve of her suit, a strip of skin was pure white in stark contrast to the near golden tanned hue of the rest of her leg. Emily's eyes drank in the tan line, her mind racing with possibilities.

"Sis, for fuck's sake! Stop perving during warm ups, yeah?" Katie hissed as she climbed out of the water and caught her twin and Cook staring across the deck.

Blinking, the spell broken, Emily's eyes snapped back up the girl's form to find a pair of ice blue eyes looking back at her with a mixture of aggravation and...was that self-satisfaction? Clearly, Katie wasn't the only one who'd sussed her out—and now her twin was turning her wrath on Cook, who scurried off along the deck in fear. Emily's cheeks bloomed an ashamed red and Emily quickly turned, tugged her goggles on, and dove back into their lane. She nearly landed on Zelda in the process who popped up with a caustic, "The fuck, Em?!"

Emily didn't hear it, though, as she swam furiously towards the other end of the pool away from the beautiful girl with the blue eyes. And with each stroke, her resolve to discover the other swimmer's identity only increased until she reach the far wall and hopped out far more determined to ascertain who she was than to win her own events.

No gold medal could match the fire in those blue eyes.


	5. Feed into the Craze

**A/N:** Well, unfortunately, the Rio Games are over, but this Olympic adventure doesn't have to be if you don't want it to. I promise we will get back to Rio...eventually. There's just so much 'fun' to have at intervening meets and otherwise! If I could give out medals for awesome reviews, I totally would, but that's not approved as an event yet (maybe 2020?)...as it is, to the **guest** reviewers, thank you for posting! I'm glad you're enjoying it and it's filling the post-Olympic depression void. There may/may not be more Naomi to come.

Without further ado...oh, wait. Sorry. I don't own 'Skins.' This is just for kicks. Now we can get back to the story...

* * *

Discovering a name turned out to be a fairly simple endeavor; figuring out a way to meet the person in question not quite as simple. Emily settled onto an empty piece of bleacher about halfway up, directly in line with the backstroke flags at the 5 meter mark, stepping over JJ to get there. There were girls lining up behind each lane going through their own unique pre-race routines, many of which involved blasting music from their earbuds as the final group of male swimmers completed their 400 meter preliminary heat.

"D'you have a heat sheet, JJ?"

"Course! It would be rather difficult to do my job without one."

Emily offered a small smile as JJ handed it over. "Right. Thanks. How'd Fredster do?"

JJ shook his head. "Not as well as coach wanted. Tried to negative split it and ended up going four point three seconds slower than his seed time and missed finals. Darrick was fuming, but you know Freds. Just nodded and went for his warm down. I reckon he'll do better in the mile tomorrow. But that's his last chance to qualify for worlds this summer in Barcelona."

"Yeah." Emily ran her finger down the heats of the 100 freestyle before settling first on Zelda's name in the age group heats (lane 4 in the final preliminary heat as the fastest qualifier) and then scanned quickly down to where her sister's name was nestled in lane 3 of the penultimate open heat. Emily handed the triple folded packet of papers back to JJ and leaned forward to watch the races. A few minutes later, her younger teammate was stepping up to the blocks, quickly drying it off before depositing her towel next to the volunteers timing in each lane. As she stepped back towards the pool, Emily clapped loudly. "Let's go, Z!"

She heard Darrick offer similar encouragement from his position down on the pool deck all the way across the pool. The starter gave a prolonged blow on his whistle and the girls stepped up onto the blocks. Moments later, he ordered them to take their marks and issued the sharp beep that released them from their small square prison as the entire natatorium held its breath.

All eight swimmers hit the water within tenths of a second of one another and disappeared as they shot underwater and back towards the surface. When they resurfaced, Emily could see that Zelda was slightly ahead of the pack and gave a loud cheer, clapping as various coaches and spectators shouted, whistled, and waved their swimmers down the pool. The heat approached the wall at the far end of the pool, Zelda executing her flip turn first followed by all the other swimmers rippling outwards toward the edge of the pool and they began their return to the finish. Emily and JJ both glanced up towards the board where 'LANE 4 TATE' had a number1 in the place column followed by her split of 27 flat.

"Damn," muttered Emily with a shake of her head and an impressed smile. She cupped her hands around her mouth. "GO!"

The swimmers chased Zelda down the pool, but she easily touched first by just over a second; an eternity in a sprint event. Emily saw Darrick quickly writing down her time on his own heat sheet as JJ did the same next to her, calculating her split. He then rapidly recorded the other top time in the heat and began circling the eight fastest times.

"She made it to finals; second fastest time under 16 by two hundredths," JJ informed her as the clapped and waved at Zelda as she climbed out of the pool. "She'll win tonight, I believe."

"Let's hope so." They sat back down as the older swimmers took their places on the blocks. Emily craned her neck, spotting her sister as she arrived behind the timers in lane 3, earbuds nestled under her swim cap as she stretched during the first heat of the event. Katie bobbed her head with the music, which Emily knew would be a mix of new songs and standby rap tunes that her sister blasted before every race.

The third heat dove in the water and Katie tugged her earbuds out, shoving them deep in the pocket of her parka before shrugging the long coat off and hanging it on a hook. She put a second cap over the one already in place, securing her goggles from any possibility of slipping off, and stepped up as the timers stood to get a good look at the finish of the heat before her. Emily frowned: the lane next to Katie's, where the second fastest qualifier for the event should have been, was empty.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a flurry of movement as a girl in a deep blue parka with the hood pulled up walked rapidly along the wall, hung the jacket up, and stepped up behind her starting block without glancing at Katie or the girl on her opposite side, caps already in place and wearing a short pair of shorts over the bottom of her suit. The heat in the water finished in a rising chorus of splashes. Katie shook out her arms and bounced on her toes, loosening up before race, but Emily was distracted by the girl next to her twin as she dropped the shorts and stepped up onto the block, a suggestively innocent tan line striping her leg.

"JJ! Heat sheet, now!"

The boy, nonplussed by her sudden outburst as the aquatic centre fell silent for the start, tried to slowly offer her the list of swimmers in each events only for Emily to rip it out of his hands. The buzzer went off and the young women on the blocks dove into the water. Emily missed their breakout strokes, though, as her eyes were transfixed by the list of swimmers in Katie's heat—one name in particular.

Campbell, Naomi.

Emily Fitch looked up sharply at the time board, incredulous. There was no way someone would have that poor a sense of humor...

"Fuck me," she whispered as her eyes settled on the digital red letters spelling out 'CAMPBELL, N' on the board. As she stared, both her split and Katie's split appeared on the board. The not-supermodel was apparently leading her sister by a tenth at the halfway point of the race. A wave of guilt lapped at the fringes of Emily's interest in her sister's competitor, but she ignored it and turned her attention back to the pool.

Katie was churning through the water taking quick, powerful strokes, her feet thrumming in a furious kick behind her as the heat approached the halfway mark of their final length. Emily yelled encouragement at her sister, but she was staring at the girl in the lane next to her, whose name she now knew was Naomi Campbell—and who had the most incredible stroke she'd ever seen. Whereas her sister looked very much like she was sprinting the event and trying to get the highest rate of turnover she could, the young woman next to her seemed like she was swimming a distance event and was maximizing every stroke. She used her superior length to the utmost advantage, gliding through the water with long, smooth strokes that belied the speed with which she was swimming. From Emily's perspective as they passed under the flags and approached the wall, Katie seemed to be taking twice as many strokes as Naomi.

Campbell lunged for the finish as Katie took a final stroke and pressed her own timing pad. Emily glanced up at the board and her heart sank: Katie's time was a half second slower than her seed time. As hyper competitive as the two of them were, Emily was positive Katie was disappointed at that moment, but Emily sought to find the silver lining that she'd placed second in the heat. So long as half the next heat didn't set a new world record, Katie should have no problem returning for finals that evening. A moment later, JJ confirmed her suspicion.

"Katie's time was good for the third fastest so far, so she just has to be faster than four other people in the next heat and that shouldn't pose a problem."

"Thanks, Jay." Emily nodded and looked down at her sister who was standing behind her lane as the next heat went into the water. Katie turned and waved up at them and Emily gave her a thumbs up, which Katie waved off and went to breakdown her swim with their coach. Taking her frustration as an invitation to turn her attention elsewhere, Emily scanned the deck for the heat winner, but couldn't find the woman she most wanted to see. Slowly, she scanned across the pool deck: swimmers milling about before their race; officials pacing the length of the pool enforcing rules; Darrick talking to a tall girl with blonde hair while Katie tapped her foot impatiently; other coaches from different clubs cheering on their swimmers during the race...what?!

Her focus snapped back to her own coach as the girl shook her head and walked away, completely ignoring Katie as she did so, and heading for the ready rooms elsewhere in the Centre. Her twin stepped over to their coach and he began talking to her about her race (by his hand motions it was clear he wanted her to work on her streamlines off the start and turn), but Emily's eyes drifted to follow the mysterious Naomi Campbell who, for reasons Emily could not understand, was very clearly swimming with a European club but also apparently on good enough terms with their coach to talk to him after a race.

She stood up abruptly and scampered down the bleachers without answering JJ's hasty questions about where she was headed. In her head, she told herself it wasn't out of rudeness; it was because she had no idea herself.

* * *

Emily wandered into the café, adrift in her own thoughts. It was sparsely populated with swimmers and volunteers grabbing a coffee or a snack between events, but to her disappointment the swimmer she was most hoping to coincidentally run into was absent. At a clamor from the corner, she turned and smiled: Cook and Effy, a nice consolation prize if there was one.

She slid around the circular table into the curved booth and plucked a slice of orange out of a bowl as Effy lounged on the other side of the booth and Cook, sitting in a wobbly chair, smacked his lips after sucking all the juice of out his own slice. "So, Emilio, how did my other ladies fare this morning?"

"Swam fast enough to make it back tonight and if they keep up their times, both Kay and Z will be swimming it in Barca." She shrugged and bit into her orange. "Just hope we can do the same tomorrow, right, Ef?"

The brunette's eyes widened fractionally in assent and then she returned to gazing out at the café. Cook rubbed his hands together. "I got me the backstroke later. Can't fuckin' believe Coach would put me in it, but I guess it's good for one thing."

"What's that, Cook?" Emily asked, though he seemed to miss the undercurrent of disinterest. He hopped up and squeezed his biceps to his ears, hands pointing up to the ceiling. Simultaneously, the double glass doors to the outdoor patio overlooking the athletics field swung open and a swimmer walked in, nearly crashing into Cook in the process.

Oblivious, he began undulating and thrusting his hips while waggling his eyebrows at the two girls in the booth. Ostensibly, he was mimicking the underwater dolphin kicks so crucial to a fast backstroke event, but Emily knew him better than that. "Good practice 'fore our summer in tha sun!"

"By the looks of it, you'll need all the practice you can muster," sneered the swimmer entering the café to find far more than she'd bargained for in the process.

Cook lowered his arms and turned, revealing the orator of the sarcastic barb to Emily. Her eyes widened, finding a very irritated-looking Naomi Campbell standing just inside the door with her arms crossed and an eyebrow arched. Seemingly willing to risk further antagonization, Cook looked her up and down.

"What d'ya say we find a time for a little one-on-one swim lesson, yeah? We can work on backstroke, breaststroke, whatever stroke ya like."

"One, I don't take lessons from wankers. Two, the only stroke you'll be working on with me is the one where you can't move and I leave you for dead." She glanced away from Cook and appraised the rest of the table. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed Emily. "Have a fucking staring problem, or what?"

Emily felt her cheeks flush for the second time that morning under her gaze and she looked away, missing a scathing eyeroll. "Sorry."

"Whatever." Naomi walked away from the table with a glare in Effy's direction and joined the queue to order something from the counter.

Cook sat back down and watched her walk away. "I think I'm growing on her...literally and figuratively. Anyway, it's been a peach, ladies, but the Cookie Monster has to go win a backstroke race."

"That's disgusting," Emily muttered under her breath as he left. She looked at Effy, who was staring back at her expectantly and bristled. "What? I do something to offend you too?"

"Damage control," Effy said simply, flicking her gaze towards the counter and back to Emily.

Emily twisted and looked over to where Naomi was hurriedly turning back to study the menu boards as if she hadn't been looking in their direction a fraction of a second earlier. The younger Fitch looked across the table at her enigmatic friend. "She was about ready to stab me a second ago!"

"Or I could just wave her over to sit with us and you can talk to your crush that way," Effy retorted, cobalt eyes flashing with the challenge and threat inherent in her words.

Emily sighed and slid out of the booth. "I really hate you sometimes, Effy Stonem."

"Liar."

* * *

She chewed on her thumb for a moment before crossing her arms and hoping that her tone struck the delicate balance between defensive and playful she was seeking. "I don't, you know."

Naomi turned, confused at who was talking to her as she shuffled forward to place her order. She shrugged and attempted to act disinterested. "Don't what?"

"Have a staring problem," Emily looked up at the blonde and offered a half-smile. "I've just never seen someone go toe-to-toe with Cook and put him in his place so easily."

"Hmm. And on deck this morning? How'd you explain that?"

Emily fidgeted, looking down at her feet. "I...I didn't mean to—"

"Get caught?" Emily looked up sharply and instantly regretted it. The girl's blues danced amusingly and she smirked, sending Emily's pulse racing. "But you did."

"I was going to say 'make your morning,' but in that case, maybe you didn't appreciate the attention."

"Now you're putting words in my mouth." She stepped up to the volunteer working the counter and scanned the menu again one last time. Who in their right mind would order fish and chips between events? "You really have about zero healthy options, don't you? Ah, Christ. I'll have a salad I guess. And a water."

The volunteer nodded along and read out the amount. "A name for the order?"

The blonde girl looked over her shoulder right at Emily. "Naomi."

"It'll be ready in a moment," the volunteer said, oblivious. "Next."

Emily stepped forward. "Yes, I'll have a pretzel, a salad, a banana, and a water also." She raised her voice slightly. "Name for the order is Emily."

"Fruit's over there." The volunteer pointed down the counter and then asked for her money. Emily paid and walked over to the collection of fruits, tugging a banana from the ripened bunch resting next to the other healthier snack options.

"So, Emily from University of Bath, now that you've ordered half the menu, I take it you're not swimming today?"

The brunette girl paused halfway through peeling the banana, looked down at her NTC Bath sweatshirt, and smiled sheepishly. "Impressive, Naomi of—" Emily's eyes swept across the other girl's wardrobe, lingering on the Spanish flag on the sleeve of her tee. "—whichever Spanish club actively recruits Brits to come swim for them. No, I'm not going til tomorrow."

Naomi was about to respond when the volunteer interrupted to let them know their food was ready. She stepped up to the counter and took the offered salad and bottle of water. She lingered as Emily took her tray filled with food and motioned with her head for the shorter girl to follow her to a table. Staring down at her tray, her feet and the floor in an effort to not trip on the way to the table, Emily struggled in vain to quash an elated smile. Maybe she would owe Effy after all.

They sat and ate a couple pieces in silence before Naomi put her fork down and crossed her forearms on the edge of the table. "They didn't recruit me; I sought them out."

Emily furrowed her brow and chewed thoughtfully on a piece of pretzel. She swallowed and innocently asked, "Why not a club closer to home?"

"I don't really think that's any of your fucking business." Naomi's face darkened. "My mum didn't put you up to this, did she?"

Taken aback, Emily blinked several times. "What? No—I don't even know your mum."

The blonde shook her head and slammed shut the plastic container holding her salad. "Don't fucking lie. This is so... _her_. Jesus! Look, just forget it."

Emily twisted in her seat as she stormed out of the café. "Naomi, wait!" Her plea went unheeded as Naomi disappeared down a hall towards the ready rooms. Emily slumped in her chair and picked dejectedly at her pretzel. In a flash of anger, she looked over at the booth near the doors leading outside, but Effy had vanished as well. _What did I do?_

* * *

For the second straight day, Naomi Campbell plagued Emily's warm ups. Unlike yesterday's debacle, however, today's distractions were solely internal as every length of the pool allowed Emily to play back their conversation from the day before in full, dissecting it and turning over every word and smirk and expression in an effort to make sense of her abrupt exit. Suddenly, the wall was looming in front of her and Emily executed a hasty flip turn.

Apparently, Naomi's choice of where she swam was tied in some fashion to a disagreement with her mum. Maybe her mum was a coach? Or wanted her to swim somewhere Naomi wasn't comfortable? _Maybe you should stop imprinting your own mother-daughter swimming conflicts onto someone you don't even know_. Emily took a breath and continued swimming, the repetition that usually soothed her now providing no relief from her inner debate. Or maybe she'd been kicked off a club team here in Britain? That was unlikely but possible, Emily mused. Still, a girl that talented and their same age, more or less (Emily wasn't sure, but her age guessing skills couldn't be _that_ bad, could they?), would certainly have been a known commodity to them; the Fitch twins were swimming just as soon as they could walk. They knew most all of the top tier competition in passing at the least. _Well, Katie did_ , Emily amended. But this girl—Naomi, what a beautiful name— _God, distracted that easily?_

Emily flipped again and headed back down the lane, trying to refocus. She won the 100 freestyle the night before (Emily was proud of her sister finishing third and qualifying for the World Championships, but she was lying if she didn't admit to watching Naomi's long, unhurried but powerful strokes more than she'd watched her sister during the race), and taking an event at the British International Swimming Meet was no small feat. How was she not on the team with them in London?!

Several laps—and no shortage of ten conspiracy theories later—Emily heaved herself out of the pool to finish off her warm up for that morning's session with some starts. She stood just behind the block, hands on her hips. After a moment of staring glassy-eyed past her, Emily realized it was Effy stood silently at the pool's edge in the lane next to her, warming up with the rest of her Plymouth Leander teammates.

"Ef, what was that yesterday?"

The girl turned around as she tugged her goggles down from her forehead. "What're you talking about?" Effy jumped in the water, sinking all the way to the bottom before pushing off and rising back to the surface in a rush, stretching her neck out as she gripped the handles underneath the starting block and set her feet for a backstroke start.

"Don't bullshit me, you know exactly who I'm talking about!"

"Ask Naomi yourself," Effy replied before scrunching herself up, nearly to the fetal position, and throwing herself backwards off the wall in a preternaturally graceful arc. She disappeared underwater and dolphin kicked away from the wall as Emily stepped up on her own block.

"Focused, Em?" Darrick asked as he stepped up to whistle her off.

Emily chanced a glance down the lanes and swallowed. Naomi was bobbing in the water, for the second time in two days glancing away as if she wasn't observing Emily from afar. Emily shook out her shoulders and gripped the block. "All set, Coach."

He whistled and she hurled herself into the water, knowing good and well the crispness of her start and length of her underwater pullout had just as much to do with wanting to show off for the blonde several lanes over as it did her own determination to get ready for her race later that morning.

* * *

Her thumb brushed across the control wheel of her classic iPod, turning the volume in her earbuds up to a near-deafening level as wailing guitars and a simple yet effectively propulsive drum beat underneath a perfect harmony of voices closed out her series of pump up tracks before her race. Emily hopped up and down in her parka, the large coat bouncing excessively as the heat before her made their turn at the one hundred meter mark and began the final lap of the race. She tugged the earbuds out and stashed them in a pocket; unzipped the parka and placed it on the hook behind her. She stepped up to the no-man's land between timers and the starting block, shaking out her arms and occasionally snapping them, whiplike. Emily tried to focus on the swim, but the heat sheet kept popping into her mind, the name of another swimmer painfully familiar.

As the swimmers in the water turned and headed back towards them, Emily turned to the girl racing next to her in lane seven and wished them luck, patting her on the shoulder. She inhaled, steeling herself for rejection, and turned around to offer the same good luck to the girl in lane five. Emily paused: it was empty. Nevertheless, just like yesterday in her freestyle event—the swimmer came rushing out to the lane late, a look of determination and aggression on her face. She pressed down on her swim cap in different directions and stared down the pool, ignoring the other competitors.

"Good luck, Naomi," Emily said, the hesitation evident in her voice even as she raised it to carry over the encouragement of coaches and fans.

Naomi's head snapped around at the platitude and behind clear goggles, Emily saw her roll her eyes extraordinarily before looking back at the water. "Christ; same fucking heat."

Emily swallowed and shook her head, furiously fighting an unbidden wave of emotion as the swimmers touched the wall and the starter whistled several times for her heat to climb up on the blocks. Did she really offend her that much? _Focus, Em! Breaststroke, let's do this!_

The eight swimmers stepped onto the blocks and placed their feet. Emily stood straight up, exhaled deeply, and bent forward at the waist, fingertips dangling just above the front edge of the starting block.

"Take your marks..." The buzzer went and Emily dove into the water, all thoughts of Naomi banished from her mind except one: _Don't let her win_.


	6. A Tapestry They Could Not Weave to Scale

**A/N** : Okay, so maybe every other day updates? Hopefully that's acceptable for now...Thank you so much for the reviews (including anons/guests that I can't respond to directly), favs, follows...That being said, the more comments and feedback the better!

I still don't own 'Skins.'

* * *

As she made the third turn of the race, Emily kept trying to remind herself to dial it back; to save something for the finals that evening. But seeing Naomi in the lane next to her still a stroke away from touching the wall spurred her to toss race strategy out the window. Emily snapped her feet in a large dolphin kick before executing a graceful pullout and breaking the surface with adrenaline giving her a boost of energy she knew she'd need for the final length of the race. Emily increased the frequency of her strokes, telling herself over and over to keep her head down and make sure to not pause her stroke at the catch when her hands were more or less under her chin and she was taking a breath. With each breath, her coach's distinct whistle pierced the air. But more than the whistle and the reminders of stroke lessons from years and practices past, one urgent thought filled her mind: Beat Naomi.

The black 'T' at the bottom of the pool came into focus and she took one last stroke, lunging forward to touch the timing pad with both hands, arms outstretched and her head looking straight down. After a moment, Emily pulled her head up and turned around, resting her elbow on the lane line. She gasped for air and squinted from behind dark goggles at the board, processing the results of the heat. The 200 breaststroke was not her best distance in that discipline by far, something she'd insisted to Darrick before the meet, but he was adamant she work on improving the longer breaststroke event if only to provide more opportunities to compete at meets leading up to Rio. Nevertheless, despite her opposition to swimming the event, maybe he was on to something: the second place finish in the heat and a personal best time by a second attested to that. _Or_ , Emily thought, _it was just wanting to beat her._ Emily clamored out of the pool and shuffled over to the wall, retrieving her parka while removing her cap, that little '5' next to Campbell on the board blinking in her mind.

But hand-in-hand with the satisfaction of triumph came the urge to congratulate Naomi on a good swim nonetheless: after watching her the previous evening win the 100 freestyle going away, Emily knew that this was not anywhere near her best event either; however, she'd swum a competitive time and the race was close. The idea of walking away from the pool without speaking to the other girl—in fairness, still a relative stranger though Emily struggled to characterize Naomi as such—appalled her. Emily whirled around, feeling incredibly small shrouded in the parka as she was, and tried to find Naomi. It only took a moment to realize her fear: the other girl left the pool deck just as quickly as she'd arrived.

Dejected, Emily wound her way past timers and officials over to where Darrick was stood along the pool's edge, scribbling on his heat sheet. He looked up and smiled at her. "Emily! Why the long face?"

She shook her head and fiddled with the zipper on her parka. "It's nothing. That went...better."

He chuckled and scratched behind his ear. "Better than...what?"

"I mean, I can't really complain about a PR. Still don't like swimming it though." Emily crossed her arms and craned her neck to get a peek at her splits.

Darrick, noticing her difficulty, canted the sheet towards her. "But it wasn't a bad swim; definitely areas to improve tonight, but your splits aren't awful. It's obvious you're more comfortable in the hundred—maybe went out a little too fast—but I thought your tempo on that last fifty was great."

"Okay," Emily said as she inhaled, fighting to bring her heartrate down. She looked up from the sheet and crinkled her eyebrows. The image of Naomi briefly stopping to talk to her coach the previous morning flashed through her thoughts. "Thanks, D. I...I'm going to get a warm down in."

"Be long, okay? Don't short change yourselves. Y'all don't ever warm down enough." She nodded and began to walk away. "Was there something else, Emily?"

She paused and looked back, shaking her head sadly. _Maybe another time_.

* * *

 _Or never_.

Emily stood at the end of a lane in the warm up pool—rather, the converted diving well in the next room of the Sports Centre—and chewed her lip watching a girl swim laps. Every stroke looked easy as if moving through water for her was as easy as walking downhill. Her feet fluttered occasionally as each arm arced gracefully through the air before slipping into the water with nary a splash and pulling her forward. If it was possible to swim silently, Emily was confident her friend would figure out how. Compared to the half dozen other guys and girls swimming in her lane and others, she seemed to skim through the water preternaturally. As she flipped in front of her, splashing water across Emily's feet, the twin stepped forward and exhaled. She hopped in, furiously blowing air out her nose as she sank farther and farther into the deep pool. Emily felt her feet brush the bottom and she ascended to the surface, ruminations about Naomi trailing her like bubbles.

She was completely confounding. Maybe her connection to their coach would reveal itself before the meet was over, but she could just as easily disappear back to whatever country she was training in and Emily would never get to make amends for the previous day. With a heavy breath, Emily pushed off the wall and began swimming after Effy. It didn't seem right that she felt culpable for Naomi's outburst and stalking off the previous day; even more troublesome was her attitude before their race earlier. Naomi set the new standard in giving a cold shoulder and it just felt far too defensive of a reaction for something so simple and unobtrusive as a pre-race platitude. It was as she rewound the entire morning in its entirety (starting with getting punched in the shoulder by an irritated Katie when she tried to roll over for five more minutes of sleep) that something from warm-ups set off alarm bells.

Realizing mid-flip turn that Effy was waiting for her at the wall, Emily arrested her somersault and rose to the surface. She quickly mirrored the slender brunette's position with one elbow resting on the deck and lightly kicked her feet back and forth beneath her.

"Hi, Ef." The other girl didn't respond immediately, so Emily forged onward with her question. "So, I was just curious...did you know Naomi _before_ she nearly walked into Cook yesterday, or did you two get on a first name basis after she nearly ripped my fucking head off?"

"Does it matter?" Effy replied, the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips.

Emily slapped the water with her free hand, sending droplets scattering across both of them, the surface of the diving well, and the deck. She just missed a guy who was doing his own flip turn. "Don't play games with me!"

"No games." Effy winked and hopped out of the pool. "Just a nudge in the right direction."

Emily continued treading water for a moment, mouth opening and closing silently, oblivious to the swimmer in the lane behind her who coasted into the wall and began to observe their conversation. Effy casually walked across the deck towards her towel, Emily's own agitation building with each step. Growling in frustration, Emily placed both palms on the deck, ducked underwater, and leveraged herself onto the deck, water dripping everywhere. She crossed her arms and glared as Effy turned, towel draped over her shoulders like a cotton cape.

"What makes you think I need a nudge? Have I _ever_ needed a nudge? I know what I'm doing."

"Sure, you proper swept her off her feet yesterday," retorted Effy. "High marks for first impression, but big deductions for not sticking the landing. Isn't finishing the most important part?"

"We're still in Leeds a couple more days; plenty of time." Emily frowned. "And yes, it does matter whether you knew her or not because..."

"Because you really don't know when to stop, do you?" finished a voice from just Emily's shoulder. The color drained from Emily's face at the caustic tone as she slowly pivoted to find Naomi standing there, equally dripping wet from swimming in the warm down pool. "Or is it just not clear that who my friends are is no business of yours, either?"

The lump gathered in her throat far faster than Emily was expecting, every word stabbing deep and tearing open wounds long since stitched together. She shook her head. This whole situation was now devolving far further than Emily ever imagined a simple conversation in the warm down pool could. "Hardly. I...I just wanted to get to know you."

Naomi scoffed and waved her hand in Effy's direction. "At her prodding. Effy, playing matchmaker? She's never that altruistic."

"Nobody controls me; I can talk to whom I like. And I wanted to talk to you. Effy didn't make me talk to you and neither did your mum, whoever she is. " Emily blinked, hoping her eyes weren't reddening too visibly. "I'm not pushing some hidden agenda or trying to manipulate you, 'kay? But since the two of you seem to be on the same page and I'm completely lost, I'll just go."

Feeling like the battle against tears was teetering on the edge of becoming a route in favor of shame, Emily ducked her head and walked right past Effy without making eye contact. She angrily grabbed her parka and towel and disappeared into the girl's locker room. Naomi watched her leave, lip tugged between her teeth to one side in distress as Effy observed everything inscrutably. After several silent beats, the only sound the splashing of others swimmers doing laps behind them, the blonde turned her gaze to Effy, who was studying Naomi intensely..

"Does she have any idea how awful you are?"

"None of this is my fault," Effy denied flatly. She spoke as she pulled on a pair of shorts and a hoodie. "You made your choices and now you're punishing her because you don't know how to take them back. Look at the big picture for once, yeah?"

Naomi hugged herself across her stomach with one arm and canted her hip. "So I'm just supposed to go in there and, what? Apologize or something?"

Effy arched an eyebrow. "Or something?"

"You're insufferable, Effy Stonem." Her complaint went unheeded as the brunette in question walked out into the hall and back towards the ready rooms leaving Naomi looking between the door into the locker room like it was an entrance to a pit of snakes and the safe solitude of the warm down pool. Naomi shivered and made up her mind.

The water was warm as she descended towards the bottom, bubbles ascending above as if there was a leaden weight dragging her down.

* * *

The bright fluorescent lighting of the natatorium belied both the darkness blanketing Leeds and the despair obscuring Emily's sense of excitement for finals that evening. Following a lackadaisical warm up, she retreated to their club's ready room and burrowed into her parka in the corner seeking solace in her earbuds. In sharp contrast to that morning's upbeat playlist goading her towards a faster swim, her selections fell squarely in the mid-tempo and ballad range—and the severity of her slide down the spectrum of music available startled her. Here she was, pummeling herself song after song with thoughts of frustration, betrayal, and unrequited love, and over what? A girl with whom she'd shared maybe a conversation (one and a half at best) feeling completely at home delivering insults and insinuations as if they'd been on bad terms for ages on the one hand, and one of her best friends over the past year on the other. But Effy didn't observe any of the normal rules of civilized interaction the rest of them—well, neither did Cook, but still—so why was this absolutely becoming the defining event of her meet? In two days, this meet would be done, she, Katie, Effy, and Zelda would've all qualified for Worlds in Barcelona that summer and Naomi Campbell would be a distant memory; Emily would never have to see that smirk or those blue eyes ever again.

 _So why is it the idea of that happening hurts more than anything else bothering you?_ Emily looked up, blinking in surprise at the lucidity of her revelation and found Cook sitting on a table eating a banana. He was frowning at her as he chewed.

"Emilio, you look about eight times more depressed than a bird as beautiful as you has a right to be. I know you won't let me cheer ya up the best way I know how, but what the fuck?"

She tugged her earbuds out and rested her elbows on her knees, talking with her hands. "This whole weekend's gone to shit."

"You've swum once; you're seeded third tonight, that ain't shit."

She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't talking about the swimming."

Cook hopped off the table and motioned for her to make some room along the wall in her corner. She moved another swimmer's bag out of the way and scooted to the side. He sat down, took a bite of his banana, and dangled his hands over his knees. Through his bite of fruit he asked, "So what were ya talkin' about?"

She blanched. "Cook, do you mind?" He swallowed and displayed his empty palette for her to see. Emily nodded despite grimacing at the sight. "Thanks."

"So what's got your knickers in a twist? The girl from yesterday?"

Emily arched an eyebrow. "That obvious?"

"Ya shoulda seen the way yous was lookin' at her yesterday. Fuck me, man, even I don't drool that much. Not all the time, at least."

"There was no drooling!" she protested indignantly.

"If you say so."

"Well, I do," Emily said softly. She stared down at a fraying thread of carpet fiber, contemplating her next words carefully. "You've never seen her before have you, Cook?"

"I know I hope I see all of her again, if you catch my meanin'. Did you notice: she had that tanline on her hip, but no corresponding one around her neck or back?" Emily's head snapped up, finding Cook grinning lecherously and waggling his eyebrows. "Oh, you didn't? Hmmm."

 _Just what I need, one more thought about Naomi to distract me even further tonight_. Emily began picking at the fiber of carpet. "But you've never seen her at an NTC or run into her at another meet?"

"What're you gettin' at?"

"She and Effy—they know each other. We had a...we were in the warm down pool and I don't know what happened, but I think there's history there."

"Go on," encouraged Cook.

"Not like that; it's never like that." She threw up her hands and gave him a cross look. He howled with laughter and pounded on the floor. "Cook, I'm serious! It really bothered me; she really let me have it and Effy kind of encouraged it."

"I doubt that," he said quickly. "She's got a lotta secrets, Ef, but yous and Katie are on her good side. Me? I dabble."

"You dabble?" Emily asked incredulously.

"Yah, you know. I like to be on her good side, but it's more fun on the bad." He cocked his head, reconsidering. "Actually, I reckon it's more a naughty and nice list. Don't haveta tell ya which side Cook belongs on, do I?"

"No, you don't." Emily sighed and rolled her head along the wall to the left so she could look at Cook as he stared across the room. "But you've never met her before, right?"

"Sure, met Effy loads of times."

"Not who I meant, Cook!"

He finished his banana and held the peel upside down as it drooped in front of him. He planted one hand and stood before turned and offering his free hand to Emily. "Why dontcha trust Uncle James for five minutes and let him show you something."

Emily took his hand and stood. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

* * *

Two minutes later, they were standing outside along the patio running the length of the centre overlooking the track. Lights were spaced far enough apart that the cones of illumination did not quite touch each other. Cook led them into the middle of one and leaned over the railing. He peeked down below and then turned while hopping up to sit on the top rail.

Emily shivered at the March chill as a breeze gusted along the promenade and she zipped up her parka the entire way. Turning around, arms crossed to ward off the wind, she surveyed their pool of light while struggling to peer into the darkness beyond it.

"Why're we out here, Cook?"

"Because I asked you to be." Whirling, Emily found Effy standing just outside the light of the lamp post, similarly shrouded in her parka.  
"Effy! Don't you have a swim in, like, a half hour? Shouldn't you be—"

"I'm fine," she said firmly. Entering the light, the girl crossed to the railing and rested her forearms on it, staring out across the darkness of the athletics field. Emily slowly stepped up to the railing and mimicked her pose. "You've been avoiding me."

Emily balked. "Can you blame me? You humiliated me!"

Her friend turned a harsh glare to her right, clearly agitated by the accusation. "That's a bit of an embellishment."

With a sigh, Emily half-nodded, half shook her head. "What d'you want, Effy?"

"To answer your question. I've..." She looked down at her fingernails as she picked at invisible molecules of dirt. "We swam together when we were younger, 'fore you and Katie moved to Bristol."

Exasperated, Emily turned so she could look at Effy in profile. Her features were drawn in a pensive frown. "Why is that such a secret? Why the charade?"

"There was no charade; we haven't seen each other in ages."

"Clearly there was no love lost on her part."

"No," agreed Effy softly. "But just 'cause you're not friends with someone anymore doesn't mean you can't look out for them."

"And...what? I'm your ticket to redemption? The way you atone for the past?"

"I fix my own problems," the taller girl said sharply. She glanced sidelong at Emily. "But I also like fixing my friends'. Today it almost created a new one."

Emily blinked. "What're you getting at, Effy? What problem of mine do you feel compelled to fix?"

Effy clasped her hand around Emily's bicep. "Just...be yourself, alright? You're already in." She released her hand and started walking across the patio towards the entrance to the hallway behind them. "Good luck in the breast, if I don't see you."

"You...you too—in the back!" Emily called after her, her voice shaking. She looked up at Cook, who was fastidiously watching Effy walk away. "Cook? What the fuck?"

He pushed himself off the railing and shrugged. "That's the closest I've ever heard her come to apologizing to someone."

Across the patio, in the dark, they heard the door open and slam shut as Effy disappeared inside the Sports Centre. Emily worried her bottom lip, glancing up at Cook. "So, want to go inside and cheer so loud they kick us out of the stands during her race?"

He burst into an ear-to-ear grin. "Emilio, I thought you'd never ask." He howled into the night and Emily couldn't help but laugh as he looped an arm over her shoulders and led the way back inside the building.


	7. It's No Promised Land

**A/N** : Oh well, well, well...what do we have here? This might be the last chapter for a week or so-and naturally that means a cliffhanger. But if you want to make sure you don't miss the next update there's two handy little buttons at the top and bottom of the page to ensure that doesn't happen!

A few shout outs...to the **guest** who marathoned four chapters and left a flurry of reviews, I'm glad you've found the story and think it's going (ahem) swimmingly. Hopefully you'll be able to get caught up before chapter 8! **Irma** , warming up and warming down is actually the most crucial part of any meet (and the part I always hated the most to be honest) because swimming cold after sitting for hours is never a good idea and then allowing that lactic acid to sit in your muscles afterward and not loosen up post-race is not good for your ability to bounce back and swim again that day. This was a huge deal on one of the last nights of the Olympics when Michael Phelps had to swim two events within an hour of each other and a big point was made about how quickly he got in his warm down between the two events). And the black 'T' at the end of each lane is simply for situational awareness so that the swimmers know how close the wall is for their flip turns and their finishes. Stroke count is crucial to successful races (see Michael Phelps' 2008 100 butterfly win by .01 seconds or Maya Dirado's 200 back win this year as evidence). **Marsupial**...apologies in advance for further thickening the plot...and giving you another excuse to put off bringing the final chapter of the marvelous _The Beauty Within the Beast_ together into a cohesive whole. And finally, **mswitsend** , sorry not sorry for feeding the addiction. And the hyperbole needs to stop. Hold the judgement until it's finished, yeah? _Stonem House_ certainly warrants it; not this...yet.

I don't own 'Skins.' But its theme songs make for awesome wake up alarms.

* * *

"Alright; you've got this, Kay! No breaths, yeah?" Emily stood in front of her sister, the edge of her twin's swim cap in her grasp. Katie nodded and leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the other edge as Emily quickly brought her edge back over Katie's bun to her neck. Katie stood and adjusted the cap quickly and exhaled towards the ceiling before smiling at her sister.

"We'll see. Darrick said I'm allowed one." She extended her palms in front of her and Emily slapped her hands down onto them sharply, the clap echoing in the ready room.

"No breaths! It's only a fifty, for fuck's sake."

Katie shrugged and tugged her goggles into place. "Wish me luck, bitch."

Emily smiled and rolled her eyes. "Good luck, Katie." She paused as Katie slipped past her towards the door. Without turning all the way around, she tossed over her shoulder, "Don't let Zelda beat you!"

"Fat chance," Katie retorted as she disappeared from view, heading for the pool deck and the preliminary heat of her second-to-last event of the meet. Someone bumped Emily's shoulder as they walked past in Katie's wake. Emily read the back of her sweatshirt (TATE) as the girl crossed the room, only to pause in the doorway and smirk at Emily.

"She's so gonna lose," Zelda said before she, too, disappeared down the hall. Emily allowed herself a small smile at the friendly competition between her sister and their teammate as she followed them out of the ready room. Emily took a left when they veered right, however, and she made her way across the bleachers until she found JJ in precisely the same location in which he'd been sat for the last two days.

"Morning, Jay...Freds," she greeted as the curly haired boy stood and let her slide past and sit between him and Freddie. The taller, olive-skinned boy twitched his lips in an approximation of a smile and returned his focus to manipulating a page of the heats for that morning's session into an origami swan.

"Hello, Emily," JJ said as he sat back down. "Your swim last evening was rather impressive. An improvement of 1.2 seconds from a preliminary heat to a final heat the same day is highly unlikely; I believe in the seventh percentile of probability. I'm sure you're eager to test yourself in Barcelona this summer in both the one hundred and now the two."

"Yeah, I can't wait," Emily said dryly. She elbowed Freddie. "And how 'bout the mile, huh?"

"His time was three seconds faster than the second place finisher. That is a considerable separation from the field," JJ opined.

"Ah, Fredster is always three seconds faster than the competition," Cook chimed in as he and Effy sat down directly behind the trio. Without missing a beat, the lanky teen turned and slugged Cook in the arm. "Ow, fuck!"

"You'd know all about fast finishes, wouldn't you?" Freddie retorted with a smirk as he returned to folding the paper.

"Shut up; they're about to start," Effy interrupted, effectively silencing the boys before they could erupt in a battle of hare-brained insults, punches, and pokes. They turned as one and focused on the women stepping onto the blocks at the very far end of the pool for the ubiquitous 'splash-and-dash': the 50 meter freestyle.

One length of the pool to determine the winner, the fifty freestyle was the shortest event in the swimming programme at all the major meets, and with Michelle's departure, there was a glaring need for a new sprint freestyler on the national team that could anchor their relays and be in medal contention in the individual events; thus, Darrick insisted that Katie expand her repertoire beyond the butterfly and the 200 individual medley (an event Emily was more than comfortable swimming as well) to the shorter freestyle events. Nevertheless, the younger twin had also been encouraged—no, ordered (perhaps encouraged suggested Emily'd had a say in the matter)—to expand her programme to include the longer event of her favored breaststroke discipline, and thus was not swimming the IM at this first meet of the year.

Emily chewed her lip and glanced along the far end of the pool, watching Katie go through her pre-race routine on the block in lane 2 and Zelda go through hers in lane 6. The younger girl was a natural sprinter, that much was clear to any of them: to Emily, it seemed predestined that she would be filling Michelle's place in their medley relay—unless they found another sprinter on the team, at least.

The buzzer went, snapping Emily out of her musings and she rose to her feet with Cook and Effy, yelling herself hoarse as her sister plunged into the water, took advantage of her superior dolphin kicks, and rose to the surface a hands' breadth ahead of the pack. The eight swimmers sprinted down the length of the pool, heads down. Emily narrowed her eyes slightly as she saw Katie flick her head to her right three-quarters of the way down the pool to take a breath even after their discussing doing precisely the opposite prior to the race, but Emily also understood why her sister felt like it was necessary to do so: taking that one quick breath could allow her to gauge where she was with the rest of the heat and inform her of just how far ahead or behind the other swimmers she was with just that last ten or so meters to go.

The eight passed under the backstroke flags and stormed into the wall, a beautiful cacophony of splashes and kicks dissipating in the span of a second as a wave surged and rebounded off the wall. Katie timed her strokes perfectly, finishing a final stroke and twisting a bit more than normal to lunge her hand forward and jab the timing pad; Zelda's abbreviated final stroke a fraction of a second slower. JJ, Emily, Freddie, and Cook all snapped their heads around to look at the clock and, in unison, roared when the saw the '1' next to FITCH, K in lane 2. Emily screamed in delight, turning and pointing down at her sister, who smacked the water in elation and whirled, pointing right back at Emily. The two shared a smile.

After a moment, Katie raised a single finger and Emily knew she wasn't gloating about winning the heat, but rather that she'd taken one breath and it hadn't cost her the race. Emily waved her off and clapped, taking a second look at the board to see how their teammate fared in lane 6. Emily's hands slowly stopped clapping: Zelda finished in sixth, fifteen hundredths behind Katie. With two more heats to follow, including several much faster and older freestylers, it certainly seemed as if Zelda wouldn't be returning for the open finals that evening; that should would in the sixteen and under finals was a shoe-in, but Emily knew the younger teen was eager to swim against older and faster competition. Feeling torn between being ecstatic for her twin and saddened for her teammate, Emily peeked over her shoulder at Effy and quickly became baffled.

The brunette was not clapping; not looking at the results of the heat; she was definitely not looking down at Katie and Zelda hugging on the deck after climbing out of the water and congratulation one another on the race. No, Effy's eyes were transfixed by something at the far end of the pool. Curious, Emily awkwardly turned all the way around and tried to figure out why Effy was so nonplussed. It didn't take long to discover why: the next heat was already on the blocks and reaching down to take their marks, but there was no swimmer on the block of lane 3 next to the Dutch girl in her bright orange cap in lane 4. The buzzer went and the times for Katie's heat disappeared, the timing board cycling over to the new heat's information. Emily glanced up to see who was missing and her stomach churned uncomfortably. Naomi should have been swimming in lane three, but she was noticeably absent from the race. Emily glanced back at Effy, finding her friend's lips pulled down into a deep frown and her brow furrowed.

"Where's Naomi?" Emily asked Effy, the cheering of the rest of the sparse crowd not nearly enough to drown out the irrational panic in her voice. _Why are you so concerned?_

Effy merely shrugged and leaned forward, steadying herself with a hand on Emily's shoulder. She whispered into her ear, "Focus on your swim; she can come later."

Emily swallowed, knowing her brown eyes were giving away far more about how concerned this made her than was rational for hardly knowing the other girl. She nodded quickly and closed her eyes, trying to refocus on her upcoming swim. "Right, time to kick ass."

Effy smiled briefly and jerked her head towards the near-end of the pool. "Go get'em, tiger."

* * *

That evening, after qualifying fourth for the 100 breaststroke finals, Emily was treading back to the ready room after warm ups in her parka and flip-flops, towel draped over her left shoulder, and her hair dripping wet from a messy bun when she rounded a corner and nearly collided with two people arguing.

"I'm terribly sorry," she said hastily as the woman reached out a steadying hand and caught her from tripping over the sandals. Emily glanced between the blonde woman and the dark-haired, bearded man she was talking to in the hall. "I...hey, Coach. Didn't see you..."

"You're fine, Emily." He smiled warmly. "You know Gina, I believe?"

The petite brunette looked up at the woman she'd nearly toppled in her inattentive walking. "I think we met over the holidays. It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Macfoeinaiugh?"

"Oh, we're not married, dear," she corrected. "I was wed to a shitty little prick ages ago and I'm never going down that path again. 'Course, my daughter seemed to inherit his knack for quitting at the absolute fucking worst times, but that's neither here nor there."

Emily's brow scrunched, confused. "Sorry? I...I didn't realize you had a daughter on the team."

Gina patted Emily's arm before releasing her and looking at Darrick pointedly. "I don't; not yet anyway."

"I told you, Gina, there's nothing I can do to force her into coming back into the fold. Whether Naomi wants to rejoin the national team or not is completely her decision." Darrick paused. "Emily, are you alright?"

The brunette blinked, realizing too late her mouth was gaping open like a fish out of water as her mind struggled to coherently process the conversation into which she'd stumbled. Promptly closing her mouth, she smiled apologetically and choked out an excuse to leave, "I'm sorry again, but I've got to be going. Have to...to get Katie psyched up for her race. Uh, nice seeing you, Gina...Coach."

Reeling, Emily stumbled down the hall as she tried to make sense of the revelation the girl who'd been distracting her the entire weekend was actually the daughter of the National Performance Director—or stepdaughter...or something? After having seen (and to her embarrassment, frequently imagine) the blonde with piercing blue eyes several times over the last few days and then seeing Gina, the resemblance was uncanny. But not only was Naomi willingly choosing to distance herself from her connection to the national team as much as possible, she'd also scratched from her event that day and been conspicuously absent from the Sports Centre. Not that Emily was looking for her, of course not; her efforts to kill time between the morning swim and the evening session were just most effectively done by wandering around the entire building and innocuously glancing into various ready rooms and the café two or four or seven times. She was just extremely bored, that was all; in no way was she trying to find Naomi.

Of course not; that'd be ridiculous.

Emily stepped into the University of Bath ready room and found Freddie, Cook, and JJ playing a card game on the floor in the corner. They waved and she smiled, hand trembling as she hung her towel over the back of a chair to dry a bit after getting an extra couple hundred meters after warmups, before bypassing the card game—nimbly leaping as Cook attempted to trip her as she passed by on her way to talk to someone in the opposite corner.

Zelda looked up with a hollow expression from inside her crimson hoodie and tugged one earbud out as Emily sat down. "Hi, Em."

Emily motioned for the earbud. "What're you listening to?" She slipped the tiny speaker into her ear and cocked her head. "Macklemore? Really?"

Zelda shrugged. "Upbeat and catchy is what works best for me."

The older teen nodded. "Works well for me too, though I tend to steer clear of American indie rap artists." Emily watched as Zelda tapped her foot nervously. "You need to relax, Z, and not put so much pressure on yourself."

"Excuse me?" Zelda said, turning her head to glare at Emily. "I'm not putting pressure on myself; I just expect to win."

Arching an eyebrow in challenge, Emily responded quickly, "Sounds like a lot of pressure to me. You're not going to win every heat of every event, _especially_ with the mindset that nothing else matters. For Christ's sake, we didn't even taper for this meet!"

"But you and Katie and Freddie keep having amazing swims," Zelda whined as the outro to the song wound down and the track switched to as an absurdly catch Icona Pop song began thumping through the earbuds. "I don't know what I'm doing wrong in practice or in the races or..."  
"Just...relax, yeah? Look, you might not realize, but our 'amazing swims' are still a few seconds off our best times from last year...or they're in events we hardly ever swim. It's not about best times right now, Z; just race hard and keep your focus on Barcelona and beyond. If you peak in Leeds instead of Rio, something's terribly wrong." The younger girl laughed in spite of her dour mood. Emily continued, "'Sides, Darrick knows what he's doing. He'll have us ready to crush it in Barcelona."

"I can't go," Zelda admitted, dejected. "Mum says I'm too young to be travelling like that yet. But I appreciate the sentiment, yeah? Thanks, Em." She made to stand and Emily handed her back the earbud. "Good luck later."

"You too—and don't worry. Chances are Cook'll get us lost again and we wouldn't want you missing an event at your first world championships."

"Oi, I 'eard that!" he protested from across the room. He hurled a bag filled with snacks at Emily. "That was one fucking time—and nobody missed any events! It's fuckin' nuts Shanghai has more bloody people than all of Britain combined, innit?"

"You didn't swim the 200 free that night because you were shagging that diver from Japan!" Freddie reminded him with an incredulous look.

Cook wagged his finger, clearly ready with a justification. "But it wasn't on account of being lost or late." He winked at Zelda as she crossed the room. "We's got it on in the hot tub under the diving platforms during warm ups."

The teen shuddered. "Yet another reason to never use one you've been within a kilometer of."

Cook howled, clearly proud of his accomplishment as she left the ready room. Emily was watching the three of them with an amused smile, trying to distract herself from her earlier ruminations on Naomi and Gina and Naomi and— _Fuck's sake, get a grip, girl!_ —when she caught a flash of blonde in the hallway and immediately abandoned all efforts of trying to distract herself. Lurching around tables and swim bags, Emily stumbled to the doorway, leaning against it to peer down the hall.

Her excitement evaporated instantaneously: the hallway in the direction she thought the swatch of blonde color was moving was eerily empty. She shook her head and caught the chorus of one of Zelda's pump up songs beginning to loop in her head.

"Looking for someone?" said an amused voice from behind her.

Suddenly feeling completely exposed, Emily turned around to find Naomi half into the girl's restroom just down from their ready room. The smaller girl swallowed and tried to will some color back into her face so she didn't seem completely shocked. "Uh, no, I just, uh..."

"Right, well. In that case..." Naomi pushed the door completely open and was nearly hidden from view when Emily found her voice again.

"I lied."

Naomi leaned awkwardly out of the doorway, a perplexed frown marring her features. "Sorry? You lied about what?"

"About knowing your mum. I do know her; I just didn't realize it." Naomi's eyes narrowed and Emily could tell she was about to retreat into the locker room since it would give her an excuse to escape the conversation. Desperate to get a final word in, Emily rushed out a final thought: "You should come back and swim with us."

"Why would I do that?" Naomi asked through gritted teeth.

"Because...it'd be nice."

"Would it?" the blonde asked rhetorically, clearly agitated by the suggestion. Without waiting for a rebuttal, she let the door swing shut and Naomi disappeared into the locker room.

Emily chewed on her bottom lip, debating whether to follow the taller girl, but after a moment erred on the side of bypassing the locker room to head to the natatorium to see her sister and Zelda swim. Nevertheless, she felt a presence approach from behind and glanced back over her shoulder at Cook as he followed her down the hall towards the pool.

"Got it bad, huh, Emilio?"

"Fuck off, Cook," she chided, despite the guilty smile that crossed her face for a fleeting moment. "Have not."

* * *

It was the day after Saint Patrick's Day, just over a week following the International Swimming Meet in Leeds, when Emily felt like the entire dynamic of their team began to shift. They finished up the main set and transitioned to a long kick set with fins (the discovery of which on their practice sheet produced vehement protests from half the team and silent rejoicing from the other half that preferred kicking to the more arm-intensive pulling sets utilizing paddles and a buoy) after a couple minutes of rest, and at Darrick's prodding they get going lest he add an additional repetition onto the end of the set.

Emily gripped her bright red kickboard and shoved off the wall, flutter kicking powerfully with the added benefit of the fins on her feet propelling her down the lane even faster. Zelda kept pace in the lane next to her as they traded idle chatter about new movie releases and complained about how terrible the previous set had been. Darrick was standing midway down the pool in front of the double doors leading to the entry of the aquatics centre, having an in-depth conversation with JJ about intervals and training heart rate zones, his head ducked as they discussed the next day's practices. The swimmers reached the far wall and were making their way back for the second length of the 100 meter kick when the doors behind Darrick hissed and rattled open.

The coach looked up at the noise, turning away from the pool. Slowly, as a momentous feeling overcame the shock of seeing the visitor, he felt a smile slowly growing behind his scraggly beard. In the water, Emily was passionately arguing against Zelda's insistence that Jack the Giant Slayer constituted quality filmmaking, head turned to look at the girl in the lane next to her—and also allowing her a perfect view of the double doors as they neared the middle of the pool and their visitor came into view.

"Oh my God," Emily gasped, the sight of the visitor stealing every ounce of breath still left in her lungs after the brutally demanding main set.

Just behind her in the lane, Katie looked over and frowned, confused as to why her sister was so shocked that someone was visiting practice. "What?"

Darrick took several steps across the pool deck, closing the distance to the visitor, who was standing awkwardly just inside the doors with both hands clutching desperately to the single strap of their swim bag where it was slung over their right shoulder. The coach thrust out his hand, unable to contain his excitement any longer.

"Welcome back."

Naomi Campbell extended a shaking hand to take his, her eyes slipping off his to meet a pair of wide brown ones in the pool behind him. "Th...thanks. Sorry I'm late."


	8. A Penny Soaked to Hell

**A/N** : I'm sorry! A week or so became two, but here's an eighth chapter. Not much swimming in this one (okay, none), but then again that's not always a bad thing. Maybe a couple more chapters and then we'll be off on the first international trip of our tale (or rather, second since it started in Rio). There's a few I want to include, and hopefully it'll keep things interesting. In the meantime, please let me know what you think! Also, I really, really like Easter eggs and little meta references, so while some of them in past chapters probably slipped past, the one here is about as subtle as a sledgehammer. Again a thank you to the **guest** reviewers who have been awesome and encouraging-thank you for taking the time to comment. And a special nod to **Byzinha** for using her first-hand experience during this year's Games to point out an error back in Chapter 1, which has since been corrected. Cheers!

I don't own 'Skins.'

* * *

"Arrrgghhh! I'M MOOSE!" Metal clanked against metal as the young man in question slammed the bar and dense black plates back onto the cage, strutting backwards while pounding his fist against his chest.

"Damon, if you put that much energy into your 200 fly you might have a world record," commented Darrick dryly, calling out from the far side of the weight room. "And if I hear you imitate James Cook again, you'll be doing the next practice in trainers. Alright, rotate stations!"

JJ and Damon, who went by Moose, a butterfly specialist a year younger than the twins (and eager protégé of their friend from Loughborough) set to removing the weight plates from the bar as the twins weaved across the room from the leg press to the bench and began setting slightly smaller plates on each end. Emily wiped the grips of the bar down with a towelette and positioned herself behind the bench as Katie laid back on it perpendicular to her. The older twin wriggled until she was in a comfortable position, clenching and unclenching her fingers before reaching up to the pebbled grips of the bar. She exhaled deeply.

"Ready, Kay?" Emily nodded down at her. "You've got this, yeah?"

"Yeah, let's do it." Katie nodded in return and grasped the bar as Emily helped her raise it up off the frame of the bench, slightly helping hold it for a moment before pulling her hand back. She watch attentively for a couple reps as her sister inhaled every time she lowered the bar and exhaled as she pressed the bar back skyward with a scrunched brow.

As her sister continued her reps, Emily's mind began to wander. The startling appearance of Naomi Campbell at the end of their practice earlier stunned her. She couldn't believe the other girl could just drop in like that; it seemed so out of the ordinary. Yet, as Emily thought back to the flurry of drama and inexplicable interactions between her teammates and the blonde, maybe ordinary didn't apply to her. Emily hazarded a glance to her right where Naomi was doing a set of calf raises, lifting up on her toes on the edge of a plank of wood inside a cage. Her eyes traveled from her trainers up her straining calves to toned thighs to the thin material of her shorts—

"Emily! Fuck!" Katie shouted desperately as she finished her set and was struggling to keep the bar steady. Hurrying to lend a hand and provide the safety net a spotter was supposed to fulfill, Emily helped take the bar and rest it back in the notches on each side of the bench. Her sister took several quick breaths in succession, sitting up and twisting to glare at her twin. "Fucking pay attention yeah? Or find another spotter. What the fuck was that?"

"Sorry, I..." Emily mumbled as Katie stood. Emily glanced furtively over at the cages. To her horror, as her eyes looked into the floor-to-ceiling mirrors positioned to allow weightlifters to see their own form, she found Naomi's blue eyes looking right back in her direction in the glass. Cheeks flushing red in embarrassment, Emily moved around and began wiping down the bench before her set.

"You what?"

 _Was perving on our new teammate? No, studying her weightlifting form in exquisite detail, shit..._ Emily swallowed and laid back. "Just got lost in the song is all."

Katie glanced suspiciously at Naomi and another teammate swapping out for another set of calf raises as the song faded out. "Right, well, try and not let me get, like, killed at your expense next time."

The next track on their team's dryland practice mix snarled out of the wired speakers in the ceiling, all swirling synthesizers and menacing, distorted guitars underlying a contentious hook and thumping bass, the sum of two distinctly great tracks clashing together gloriously. From somewhere behind their bench, Emily heard Moose let out a whoop. She smiled ferally and grasped the barbell, lifting it with Katie's guidance and began her reps, her eyes transfixed by a small sticker she and Katie applied to the intersection of ceiling frame right above that bench several years prior: the interlocked rings of the Olympic logo. In her peripheral vision, she could see Katie nodding her head to the beat, eyes following the bar up and down. Emily began feeling the burn in her chest and shoulders as the number of reps increased and the song's first verse ended and the hook returned.

"Time!" Darrick called and Katie aided Emily in returning the barbell to the frame. Emily sat up, futilely swiping at strands of hair stuck to her forehead by sweat. She stood and began pulling the disks off one end of the bar as Moose and JJ walked over to prep the bench next to the twins' for the final station of their circuit. On cue, just as Emily knew they would, the two boys joined in with the second verse of the song continuing overhead, seeming to have a heated discussion regarding the legality of a traffic stop. They gesticulated emphatically, each trying to out-sass the other before Moose slammed a final twenty-five pound weight on the end of the barbell and the hook returned.

The backing track faded into a new rock riff, an aggressively forward set of guitars building the momentum of the final verse. Katie and Emily maneuvered past a rack of dumbbells as the third verse of the iconic rap song unspooled over their heads. They reached a relatively open area of the fitness room where two other pairs of teammates were congregating and picking medicine balls from a vertical rack in the corner. Katie grabbed a medium-sized one and positioned herself across from her twin. Gripping the ball with both hands, she brought it back behind her head as if executing a throw-in on the pitch and lofted the heavy ball towards Emily.

Emily caught it on a bounce and mirrored her sister's throw. The final verse finished and the song built towards a coda she knew the entire team would join in on. Katie's return toss arced through the air and bounced into her hands; Emily executed her second throw and then the entire team exploded in unison, medicine balls thudding to the ground as everyone began jumping around in a weak imitation of a mosh pit, shouting themselves hoarse for a moment before separating and heaving the weighted balls back and forth in a series of angry chest passes. Over her twin's shoulder, Katie could see the rest of the team fighting through their last reps with renewed vigor as the song finished. Darrick whistled an end to the circuit, and with it, dryland practice.

* * *

The team was ambling down a hall towards the locker room in groups of two and three several minutes later when their coach's distinctive Southern drawl cut through the light noise and brought the younger twin to a halt. She motioned for Zelda and her sister to go on without her before sidestepping a couple other groups of teammates. Emily approached their coach with an open expression.

"You wanted to see me, Darrick?"

Coach Mercer nodded, scratching at his beard. "Everything alright, today? You seemed checked out a little."

Emily chewed her lip and nodded hastily. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just a tough day—classes and that main set and this morning's practice...I'll be ready to go tomorrow."

The coach eyed her suspiciously. "Well, if you're sure there's nothing distracting you..."

Blonde hair and a seriously enticing tanline crackled through her mind. "Nope, just a bit wiped."

Coach shrugged, accepting Emily was likely to stick to her obfuscation at all costs. "Let's just make sure you're pushing yourself the rest of the week. Barcelona will be here 'fore you know it."

* * *

A mindless pop song was bubbling out of the speakers set on an overturned bin, a smartphone lying next to them surrounded by a coil of cable, as Emily entered the locker room. She hardly registered the banal chorus, however, her attention focused solely on her feet. The locker room was considerably muggier than the hall with every shower spewing hot water and steam fogging every mirror; Emily feared her inherent on-land clumsiness would betray her. The tiles were slick with water. She found her locker already opened and growled in displeasure at Katie's assumption she could—despite weekly protests—take her hair products with impunity.

Emily collapsed on the narrow wooden bench that serpentined the numerous sections of lockers, laying her head back against the grey metal doors as she tried to regulate her breathing. She felt the uncomfortable prickling of sweat along the nape of her neck and resigned herself to a quick shower before heading back to the dorms. She quickly discarded her workout clothes and plucked a dry towel out of her sister's locker in reciprocity. Emily shuffled around the corner, past a group of newer members of the club waiting their turn to shower, and crossed to an empty shower head in the corner next to her sister to which she'd staked claim the previous fall due to their seniority as Podium-level members of the team. It was Katie who insisted upon maintaining certain vestiges of seniority and the shadow of an almost class-like system of standing within the club, but Emily wasn't about to argue about this one perk, especially after practices like today.

The water was nearly scalding (just how her twin liked it), so Emily adjusted it slightly before sighing and squinting at her sister with one eye open. "I'll take my things back now, thanks."

Katie scoffed as she squeezed what looked like half the bottle of conditioner into her hand. "I was the one who picked them out; you _should_ be thanking me."

Emily angrily snatched her body wash back before Katie could block her. "The thanks was sarcastic."

"Whatever." Katie looked around, concerned. "Where's the new girl? She needs to introduce herself; I even left a shower open for her."

Emily rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Fucking hell, you are _not_ making her do that."

"Why not? We had to!"

"Which is the absolutely worst reason you could give. Making someone dance around the shower to a boy band song of your choosing while they sing their name is not amusing, Katie; it's hazing."

Katie flipped off her sister and rinsed her hair. "You're no fucking fun." She looked at the group of girls waiting for the shower. "Any of you bitches see the blonde girl?"

Emily turned around and faced the corner as she attempted to eavesdrop on her sister's inquiry while continuing to wash her body. When one of the younger girls suggested they'd seen her come in, immediately grab her bag, and depart, it was met with vocal consternation on Katie's part—and silent disappointment on Emily's. Why had Naomi appeared only to run out so quickly? Emily desperately craved the chance to ask her what possibly changed her mind from being adamantly opposed to swimming with anyone in Britain just a week earlier to stepping onto the pool deck in Bath earlier in the afternoon. _Maybe I can still catch her..._

Emily hurriedly finished showering, toweled off, and slipped into a London 2012 hoodie, corresponding sweats, and tugged her parka over the already cozily-warm outfit before rushing out of the locker room, leaving her sister standing in front of their lockers and yelling after her that if she made it back to their dorm first, she was 'so cooking for the both of them.'

The door to the locker room clicked shut as Emily scurried down the hall. She rushed through the lobby with a half-hearted wave at Zelda's mother who was talking amicably with another set of parents, her sights set on a figure hurrying along the well-lit sidewalk running parallel to the street, The Edge art gallery rising on the figure's right, modern and cubic. A swim bag was slung casually over the person's right shoulder, but they disappeared around the corner before Emily could get a good view, vanishing into the car park beyond the gallery. Emily's shoulders slumped and she headed down the ramp in the same direction before cutting across the street and beginning the uphill walk back towards the dorm suite she shared with Katie.

The younger Fitch nibbled at her bottom lip as she stared straight down at her trainers, studiously avoiding the muddy puddles remaining from the day's earlier showers. Somehow, she just _knew_ the figure disappearing past The Edge was Naomi, fleeing their practice without interaction with anyone more than was minimally required in order to complete the workout. It felt almost like a personal affrontement to Emily after their last interaction in Leeds, her suggestion that she return to Britain and practice with them appearing to deflect off her well-maintained defenses.

The path across the campus green was bisected by another stone path, its length interrupted by benches hop-scotching from one side to the other every few meters, down which Emily turned, her head still dissecting and overanalyzing Naomi's appearance and subsequent disappearance at their practice. Emily came to a halt as she started on the new path, a particularly deep puddle, opaque with a sickly green-tan hue, blocked her way. Taking a grasp of each leg of her sweats, bunching them up desperately, she lunged over the puddle.

Or rather, _most_ of the way over the puddle. Emily's right foot landed in the brackish standing water and without warning, the path was rushing up to meet her. Just as she was throwing her forearms in front of her face to protect herself, a firm grip closed around her upper arm and she was stumbling into a brief but steadying embrace. The Good Samaritan gripped Emily by both shoulders, making absolutely certain the twin was on stable footing before stepping back and putting some space between them.

Her breathing erratic and her composure completely shaken (not to discount the queasiness slowly building at the feeling of a grimy, soaked through pair of sweatpants), Emily inclined her chin to see who her rescuer was.

Naomi smiled weakly. "Alright?"

Mouthing opening and closing of its own accord, her expressive brown eyes teetered between emotional overload and elation as her mind scrambled to catch up with the reality of Naomi standing an arm's length away from her and not a ghost driving off into the night as previously assumed. Emily clamped her lips together and nodded her head emphatically. A second later, however, her lips curved downwards as she glanced down in disgust at the brown-tinge of her previously steele grey sweats.

"Shit. Shit! It looks like I just stepped in—"

"You don't have to say it," Naomi interrupted, making an exaggerated face. "It's not hard to make that connection." Emily crossed her arms, looking back at the puddle with disdain. Naomi rocked from foot to foot and crossed her arms over her chest out of instinct, but tried on a smirk and an attempt at levity. "You know, if you really felt like doing some more dryland training, box jumps are better than long jumps for quick twitch muscle development."

Emily slowly swiveled her gaze back around to the taller girl, confusing knitting her brow. Upon seeing the tentative, but clearly jesting smirk, her features softened and she shrugged. "I dunno. Darrick encourages out-of-the-box training ideas. Maybe puddle jumping will be our dryland after the next shower."

"I'd sit that one out, if I were you," Naomi advised gravely. "Leave it to the longer-legged of us to brave the dangers of a rain-soaked camp... _us_." Her voice trailed off as her mind processed the stream of words her mouth was apparently intent on spouting as a retort.

Emily's eyes flicked down and then travelled the full extent of Naomi's legging-clad limbs as if taking an open invitation to do so at her comment despite the bloom of red remaining on her cheeks—first there from her faux pas with the puddle, now firmly rosey from her less-than-smooth appreciation of Naomi's legs. _She did seem to realize what she said_ , Emily tried to justify to herself, but at the same time the entirety of the comment clicked. "Wait, you're sticking 'round?"

Naomi adjusted the strap of her swim bag and sucked the corner of her mouth between her teeth. She nodded and released her lip. "I think so, yeah. For as long as Darrick'll tolerate me."

Emily shivered visibly. "What makes you think he won't welcome you? Or that we won't, for that matter?"

Ignoring her questions, Naomi grabbed Emily by the elbow and tugged her along the stone path. "Jesus, I'm such an arse. Here you are standing in the cold, soaking wet—"

"It was a splash!" Emily protested even as she found herself smiling at Naomi's insistence.

"—Properly _soaked_ by that Avon River tributary back there," Naomi continued, talking over Emily's interjection, "And I'm rambling on about my personal drama. Christ, might as well've hung a sign that says, 'Lacks any human empathy or concept of compassion' 'round my neck. D'you have an auto, or where're you headed?"

"No, uh, a dorm. My sister and I share a place," Emily stammered, heart rate accelerating as each step shortened the distance to the building in question, made it more and more likely Naomi would know where she lived. Emily tried to comprehend the thrill that idea sent through her body, but found herself focused instead on just maintaining a quick enough gait to walk next to the taller girl. With a smirk, she freed her elbow from Naomi's grasp. "I can walk by myself, you know."

"Sure about that?"

Emily faked a stumble and offered a smile, which was returned albeit guardedly. "I'll manage."

"Good, 'cause I have to drive back to bloody Bristol tonight and my auto's actually the complete other direction, so..."

The thrilling idea of Naomi at least being in her own room, or at a minimum knowing it existed corporeally, eroded with every matter-of-fact word in Naomi's answer, souring Emily's elated mood. "Oh. Right, sure. Don't...don't let me keep you. Sorry."

"No, no...I'm glad I could help; can't have one of the Fitches getting pneumonia now, can we?" The tone was light, but the inherent barb in the words stung sharply and rattled Emily for a moment.

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean, Naomi?"

Naomi stuttered, trying to backtrack. "I just...uh, I meant, you know...it's just you and your sister are, like, two of Britain's best and I'd hate to have been the reason you missed any time in the water. I know how hard you're working towards Barcelona, and Rio, and..." Naomi trailed off, self-aware of her rambling. She readjusted her bag. "I should go."

"Yeah, maybe you should," Emily whispered, looking down at the stain on her sweats. In the upper limit of her peripheral vision, she saw Naomi's trainers turn and begin to open the distance from the perplexed twin. A surge of conviction overtook Emily in that instance, just as the trainers were disappearing from view, and she looked up. "Wait!"

Naomi turned around with a barely concealed eye roll. "Yes?"

"Well, I was just...we should exchange numbers...in case."

"In case of what?" she asked skeptically, but the step back towards Emily seemed at odds with her doubtful question.

"Practice gets cancelled? Or you're coming from Bristol and forget something? I mean, we're teammates, right? Might not know when we'll need it."

Naomi signed and tugged her smartphone out of a pocket on her swim bag, handing it over with a flourish. "Well, when you put it _so_ convincingly."

Emily smiled and fished her own phone out of the deep pocket of her parka before swapping it to the blonde. "Aside from team stuff, I mean...maybe we could hang out sometime. Or something." She winced at how lame her entreaty sounded, the painful feeling deepening at the arched eyebrow Naomi gave her while pausing mid-input of her number.

After a beat, Naomi shrugged and finished saving her number in Emily's phone. She extended it like some sort of twenty-first century olive branch. "Or something...so long as your sister isn't invited. She was looking at me as if I carried the plague in the weight room today."

It was Emily's turn to roll her eyes in annoyance. She handed Naomi back her phone. "She takes herself, and her role as most senior swimmer on the team far too seriously. Katie'll invite herself along to just about anything. Unless there's some sort of educational benefit in it."

The blonde winked conspiratorially. "Right, so nothing 'fun.' I can manage that." Naomi turned on her heel and flipped her hand up in a casual goodbye wave and began her trek towards the car park. Emily remained rooted to the path, turning her phone over and over in her hands with a satisfied smirk playing at her lips.

"So could I."


	9. Trying to Calm Every Feeling in my State

**A/N:** I know...I know...I'm sorry this took so long. But I swear there's a laundry list of reasons including making a big move and settling in. But I have Internet and I had a free afternoon, so here we are! I actually started writing this about 20 days ago, but here we are. The whole swimming aspect returns with a vengeance. To the awesome **guest** reviewers...thank you again! You're all fantastic and I'm so glad the story's sating any sort of Naomily fixes you need thus far. It's been a blast to write and the warm response is incredible. Routinely the kindness of those in this fandom outdoes itself and on that note, **Irma**...for fear of jinxing things beyond my control I won't say anything else. But thanks for all the support throughout everything. **Fragrantlily, mswitsend**...folks, you're doing it wrong if you're not reading their stuff too! The best doing it right now, seriously. Of course I'd be remiss if I didn't mention **marsupial** as she's just about to wrap up an all-timer. **Amp24** was curious as to the title of this tale and its implications...I'll leave that for all of you to decide. Please leave any comments and reviews if you so choose; otherwise, just a huge thanks for reading regardless. Cheers and be well!

I don't own 'Skins.' This is just for fun.

* * *

And then there were just the four of them left.

The Friday afternoon practice was, even by the staggering standards set by Coach Mercer over the last ten months, brutal. Nevertheless, as he whistled to signal the interval for the next distance, the guys and girls still maintaining the interval for the set pushed off the wall without a single voiced complaint or protest. The coach smiled to himself knowing their internal monologues were likely rife with diatribes and invective hurled his direction as they scorched the water, each stroke bringing them closer to being three-quarters done with the mammoth main set of that afternoon's practice. Pride swelled within him as they approached the fiberglass bulkhead the staff moved from the far end of the pool into the middle, effectively splitting the fifty meter pool into two twenty-five meter ones. They were doing _exceptionally_ well, not that any of them knew what to expect when they arrived that day.

As the team came out of the locker rooms just over an hour earlier with perplexed expressions at the atypical set-up of their training facility, they found JJ standing awkwardly on deck, herding the men's team towards one end and the women towards the other. Every question sent his direction about the reasoning for the unusual split of the team was met with a furious shake of his head and an imploring look to not make a fuss. Darrick watched from his office in one corner of the aquatic center as they split up and began going through their stretching routines and retrieving their equipment bags from hooks on the wall.

Darrick slowly extricated himself from his chair and opened the door, silencing the murmurs of conversation lingering across the pool deck. He ambled past the girls as they stretched without a word before wheeling a whiteboard closer to one end of the pool as an assistant coach did the same at the far end where the boys were congregating into their practice groups behind each lane.

"Coach, there's no workouts," observed Katie, a hint of irritation in her voice.

"You know, you're absolutely right, Katie. You're all just going to swim however far you want in the next two hours with no structure whatsoever," Darrick replied dryly. "Wait, I'm sorry. That was complete bullshit."

He nodded at his assistant coach at the far end of the pool and simultaneously they ripped sheets of construction paper off the boards revealing a single name on one side of the board: 'Hudepohl.'

"Is that even a word?" asked Naomi, eliciting a snicker from Katie and a quick sideways glance from Emily.

"Joe Hudepohl was a member of two Olympic teams for the United States twenty years ago, but also made famous a practice that now bears his name." Darrick raised his eyebrows, looking at both groups of swimmers. "Which I take it none of you have ever heard of before now."

With a second nod, he indicated the assistant should flip the whiteboard. Coach Mercer followed suit, flipping over his board to reveal the set that bore his contemporary's name. There was a long pause as the members of the team read the spindly black numbers, then a flurry of expletives rippled across the deck. Darrick grinned. "I suggest you start warming up. We start the set in ten minutes. Leave lanes 7 and 8 open; if you miss an interval, move over. Last two guys and the last two girls standing have tomorrow morning off. But! You have to finish the entire set or everyone practices."

Still muttering amongst themselves, the two groups tugged their goggles and swim caps on before jumping in for warm ups, the ominous numerals on the whiteboard looming over each set was essentially a simple ladder, sets of four building from the shortest possible distance (25 meters) up to 200 meters (four laps with the shortened pool), on one fast base interval. Alone, it would have been a challenging set, but then the second half of the workout was coming back down the ladder at an even _faster_ interval than the first half, for a grand total of 7200 meters.

Now, the team was descending the ladder, churning out repetition after repetition, the four girls remaining on the original interval touching with hardly two seconds' rest before pushing off and beginning the next one. At the far end of the pool, Darrick narrowed his eyes, counting off that six of the young men were still holding pace as well. He returned his attention to the women's team as Emily and Katie executed identical flip turns in their respective lanes and kicked their way back to the surface. As they passed under the flags heading towards the far end of the pool, Naomi passed under the flags and approached the wall, somersaulting her legs over her head in almost a pike position, and pushed off in pursuit of Katie; Zelda's feet hit the wall in Emily's lane a second later and she took off. They continued, the four of them, pushing each other up and down the pool for two more laps. Emily out-touched Katie and took two massive gulps of air before plunging back underwater and pushing off as she started on the first of four 125 meter repetitions; her sister was only able to fit in one breath and she was gone. Naomi glided into the wall with long strokes, took two steady breaths, and chased after Katie leaving a five second cushion between their departures; meanwhile, Zelda staggered into the wall, her strokes short and rapid as if spinning her wheels, a half second over the interval.

"Shit!" she yelled, splashing water into the gutter repository and slipping under the lane line into the next lane to continue the set with the rest of the girls.

Darrick clapped in support and smiled. "Ain't nothin' to be ashamed of getting that far, Z."

She laid her swim cap-clad head back in the water and gritted her teeth, polarized blue goggles masking her eyes. "Yeah, but I don't like losing. I want to keep up with them."

"One practice won't break you unless you let it. Pick your head up and finish strong on 32 base. 4x125's, ready...go!"

Zelda nodded abruptly and surged away from the wall, straining to finish strong despite not being able to keep on the main interval. Rhythmic splashing alerted him to the last three remaining on time as Emily followed a fraction of a second later by Katie and then Naomi four seconds later. Darrick shook his head, impressed, as the tall blonde swimmer powered after the eldest Fitch. As he walked to the side of the pool so he could watch their technique from a different angle, his thoughts turned to Campbell's arrival with the team.

It was, perhaps, too strong an expression to say she was a seamless fit with the team—that much Coach Mercer ascertained for himself after observing her interactions with the Fitches and the rest of the group over the last couple months. She seemed to cherish the ability to distance herself from the team by commuting back and forth to Bristol as she was not enrolled in classes at the university like many of her peers on the team. Naomi refused to commit to attending in the fall, but Darrick considered that beyond the scope of his responsibilities. All he sought to do was mold this group of young men and women into a cohesive team that practiced hard, held each other accountable, and had some fun while they were at it. That Naomi excelled at the first piece of that team building plan was undeniable: she routinely dominated main sets and pushed herself harder than all but a select few Olympians Darrick coached while Stateside. It was in the other two aspects of his coach efforts that she seemed hesitant to commit herself entirely. Whether that was a by-product of the murky politics of last year's selections for the Olympic team or something more elemental, Coach Mercer was not sure.

The Fitches touched the bulkhead midway down the pool a second apart—Emily was able to compose herself before starting on the next 125 meter swim, but Katie touched and in the same motion was pushing back off the wall with her sister. Naomi came in right on her heels, stretched her neck slightly, and pushed off. Darrick whistled as Katie took a breath, shaking both fists in an encouraging manner, trying to inspire her to not give in this close to being done with the set. Naomi glided past just behind her and Darrick took an opportunity to wave his hands up and down in an alternating fashion mimicking a flutter kick to remind her that she needed to lean on a strong, steady kick not her upper body strength to close out the set. He nodded in approval as she did a flip turn, took four pulsing dolphin kicks and then increased the tempo of her kicks on the next 25.

"Outstanding, ladies, keep it up!" He shouted as they finished that repetition a minute later and quickly left again. He turned his attention to the farther lanes and whistled at another girl as she breathed, replicating his kicking motion with his hands. He'd learned the hard way early in his coaching days that focusing too much on the outstanding swimmers at the expense of those even slightly less talented could fracture an entire team in a hurry; providing fair and equal criticism and encouragement to everyone under his charge was the only way to combat that.

 _Come on, Katie. Push! Catch me!_ Emily blew an angry stream of bubbles out her nose as she took stroke after stroke along the lane line. With every alternating breath, she could see Katie struggling to maintain the torrid pace demanded by the set. Her own muscles burned in protest and her lungs insisted she take far more breaths than just one every three strokes, but Emily learned long ago that she could keep going so long as her technique remained true and she focused on rotating her hips and shoulders to get the most out of every stroke in addition to keeping up a tenacious kick. Emily flipped and kicked underwater past the flags, trying to shorten how far she actually had to swim each length of the pool, but as she took her first breath back towards Katie's lane, her heart sank seeing Katie slipping a heads' length behind her. Each breath towards that side revealed a widening gap between the twins and Emily made the final flip turn of that 125 meter repetition. She surged down the pool and touched with a second and a half to catch her breath. She inhaled and ducked underwater just as Katie was arriving at the wall.

 _No, no no no no, make this fucking last 125!_ Katie didn't even bother touching and taking a breath; she could see her sister starting to leave and did a flip turn, her feet hitting the wall squarely and she pushed off even with her sister as they started the last 125 of the entire set. Katie broke the surface directly under the flags and for several strokes felt like maybe her momentum from the flip turn would translate to her swimming. But just as quickly as it came, the punishing reality of the Hudepohl set returned with a vengeance and every stroke felt like it was being taken in molasses. Her lungs roared for more air; her head began drifting up slightly and what was a determined effort to swim in as straight a line as possible devolved into a slightly serpentine journey from flip turn to flip turn. Adding to her distress, with each flip turn Katie could see Naomi gaining on her despite the five second break between their starts.

Katie saw Emily push off the wall and dolphin kick past her as she finished and knew that she'd failed to make the interval with only a total of 1000 meters of the entire 7200 remaining. Gasping and sputtering in futility, Katie squirmed closer into the corner of the lane so that Naomi could touch, partially control her breathing, and push off for the first 100 meter repetition. Katie slipped under lane line after lane line until reaching the lane where Zelda was continuing to finish the set on a slower interval and after a shake of her head, Katie followed her down the pool, determined to finish as best she could.

 _It's just the two of you, now. Don't screw this up._ Emily was in the zone. She hit the wall and looked up as the digital clock counted 58 seconds...59...just before double zeroes appeared for the next minue, she took a breath and pushed off. Naomi cruised into the wall in the lane next to her, still on her interval five seconds behind. Emily knew getting distracted by the thought Naomi was also quickly closing in on having the morning practice off was dangerous, but the monotony of the long practice was settling in and she was lying if the home stretch of the set marked the first time the blonde wandered into her thoughts as she swam: hardly a practice went by when Emily didn't contemplate the new girl's presence or reflect on a particularly candid and scathing commentary she made about one injustice or another, one pop culture affrontement or the other. _Shit, flip turn!_

Emily made a compressed somersaulted and planted her feet on the wall, pushing off emphatically and trying to refocus on the set, not the wit and sarcasm of the girl in the lane next to her. She touched with a second to go on that repetition and was surging off as Naomi reached the wall. As the set wound down and the distance of each repetition dwindled down to just a length of the pool, Emily felt her heart pound even louder. As she touched the bulkhead a half second before leaving for the final 25, a tidal wave of accomplishment and excitement buoyed her along the lane, each set of flags passing in a flash and then she was collapsing against the wall in the most unattractive way she could imagine. It felt like every centimeter of skin was on fire, the exertion of the set still burning in every muscle and fiber. A flurry of splashes in the lane to her left signaled Naomi's arrival.

"That is outstanding work, ladies. Absolutely incredible, Emily; Naomi. If I so much as see either of you tomorrow, well..." Darrick was applauding as was JJ standing in the middle of the pool deck, looking between the men at one end and the women at the other. Emily peeled her goggles up off her eye sockets and released them against her forehead as she turned and leaned on the lane line between her and Naomi, her breath coming in ragged, shuddering inhalations.

"Great job, Naoms," she rasped, offering a tired smile and an outstretched hand, hopeful the girl would understand and at least grasp it in acknowledgement of their accomplishment. _Or just collapse into a hug, that'd be okay too_.

The blonde turned her head, arms crossed in the gutter, and looked at Emily from behind her opaque black goggles, lips pressed together. "We should warm down," she said wearily and departed the wall to stretch out with a leisurely swim after such a brutal workout. Emily remained frozen in place for a beat, struggling to comprehend the brusque way in which Naomi ignored her compliment.

Indignation rose inside Emily and she snapped her goggles back in place before embarking on her own warm down. _Fine, if that's the way she wants to approach this...fine!_

* * *

 _Naoms..._

The nickname; the exhausted rasp that accompanied it. Naomi closed her eyes and slammed her locker shut, hoisting her swim bag over her shoulder as she rushed out of the locker room just as the rest of the team was staggering into it. Naomi pulled the exit door open and hazarded an ill-timed glance back over her shoulder. Emily was just stepping into the locker room, wide chocolate eyes fixed on Naomi as she tried to escape, the disappointment and anguish at being dismissed so outright earlier clearly visible in her expression.

"Fuck's sake, Em, don't just stand in the doorway!" Katie shoved past her and stumbled into the middle of a cross-locker room staring contest of which she wanted no part. Glancing between them, she shook her head and headed for the shower. She called back to them flippantly, "Sort your shit out tomorrow while we're slaving away, yeah?"

The spell broken, Naomi cleared her throat, awkwardly looked to the tile floor, and shuffled into the hall beyond the door. There was a pause—or at least, at felt to Emily as though there was—and music began blasting from the speakers in the corner. The sounds spurred Emily into action and she stalked across the cool tile of the locker room, repressing a shiver, and threw open the door to the hall.

"You stop right there, Naomi Campbell."

As if frozen, the girl in question halted abruptly, shoulders tensing up as she slowly turned around to face Emily. The locker room door eased shut behind her petite teammate and silence lingered over the hall, the sounds of the rap music in the women's locker room muffled. Emily took three wet steps forward, her feet leaving imprints on the floor and droplets of water dripping off her hair and body with each movement. They stared at one another a beat longer, Emily opening her mouth and then closing it as Naomi furrowed her brow in confusion.

Finally, she spoke, affecting a disinterested air in hopes it would dissuade Emily from whatever endeavor she'd embarked upon in trekking half the pool's water into the hall. "You wanted something?"

 _Of course, halfwit._ Emily chewed her lip and simply nodded. The anger pulsing through her just seconds earlier was dissipating now that she was looking down the hall at Naomi, replaced with something Emily couldn't quite label properly.

Naomi rolled her eyes and even from afar Emily could tell she was trying not to smirk simultaneously. The blonde said, "And were you wanting me to guess what it was, or...?"

The question hung in the chlorine-infused air between them. Emily closed the distance until she was nearly under Naomi's chin before looking up. "First, I wanted to congratulate you on the set today."

"It's just a practice," Naomi protested. She took a step back as Emily shook her head and flung droplets of water along the hall—and Naomi. "D'you mind?"

"Second, what...what're you going to do now that you've got no practice tomorrow?" Emily peeked up shyly and failed to stop another shiver from coursing through her body.

"Dunno...but you're going to go right back in that locker room and take a shower and dry off and get warm. You're bloody shivering, Emily."

"Am not," Emily protested. "'Sides..." She closed the distance and embraced Naomi quickly, arms wrapping around her waist as she pressed to the dry-clothed girl.

"Oh, no you don't," insisted Naomi, extracting her arms and pushing Emily back. Her mouth fell open as she looked down at the large wet Emily-shaped imprint on her tee and jeans. "You do know I have to drive all the way back to Bristol soaking wet now?"

Taking an opportunity to roll her eyes right back at Naomi, Emily smirked despite the torrid pace of her own heartbeats. "Or you could ask a teammate to borrow a change of clothes and I'm sure they'd be happy to give you your dry ones back tomorrow."

Naomi's clear blue eyes flitted bird-like across Emily's features as she processed the inherent invitations and presumptions in the comment. Her bottom lip found itself between her teeth as she thought, but her chance to respond was interrupted as Moose and another member of the boy's team spilled out of their locker room and slid across the hall.

"Shit, who trekked all this water into the hall?" They looked up and found the two girls stepping away from each other. Moose frowned. "Emily, you trying to kill us?"

Cheeks inflamed in embarrassment, Emily shook her head violently. "Sorry. I..." She glanced between Naomi and the boys. "...was just headed back into the locker room."

Emily squished back down the hall past the two boys, casting a look back at Naomi, but she was already around the corner and out of sight. Emily's heart sank as she pushed open the door to the locker room, the angry bars of the newest Kanye West album washing over her in a brutal reminder that her sister was helming the DJ duties for the afternoon. She carefully made her way across the slick floor to her locker wincing at the bass and house music-influences in the track. _What were you thinking?_

The door of her locker jangled lightly as she tugged it open and she snatched her towel off its hook before patting her face dry and tousling her hair lightly. As she was, though, a faint blue light illuminated the side pocket of her swim bag and Emily fished out her mobile, staring down at the screen even as she furiously tried to dry her hair faster. The banner notification of a received text striped the screen, its sassy message sending a surge of electricity through Emily's nerves.

/Don't make me wait too long for those dry clothes./

She smiled and, as she was unlocking her phone with damp fingers, felt it vibrate with another new message. The grey bubble popped up on the left side of her screen.

/You owe me. Tosser./

Not bothering to reply, Emily smiled and slipped it back into the pouch, hurriedly stripping out of her suit and toweling dry while she mulled various witty rejoinders to Naomi's expectant, but clearly sarcastic texts.

* * *

"You would use proper grammar and punctuation in a text message," chided Emily as she approached Naomi outside the training centre, an amused smirk playing at her lips.

Naomi squinted into the sun. "Yeah, well, it's the little things that separate us from the animals."

"Katie abbreviates _everything_ in her texts. I swear, I need a translating service to sort it sometimes."

"Like I said, the animals."

Emily laughed as they crossed the street and trudged across the campus towards her dorm. "She'd kill you if she heard you say that."

Naomi bit her lip and stared into the middle distance, seeming to weigh her options. "I could take her."

"Want to bet on that?" Emily challenged. At Naomi's urgent shake of her head, her laughter morphed into a sparkling smile, her cheeks dimpling prettily. Naomi glanced askance at her and quickly looked up the path instead. Emily replied, "That's a good choice. Safe."

"I'm all about self-preservation, me," Naomi opined. "And you?"

"I try to practice non-violent protests of her more ridiculous choices as much as can be helped."

"Smart."

"Yeah." They lapsed into silence as they crossed the green and took the steps up to Emily and Katie's second floor flat with heavy feet, the exhaustion of the afternoon's practice burning with each step. Emily pushed open the door and hesitated. "You'll have to excuse the mess. I swear only a third of it is me."

Naomi stepped in after her and surveyed the carnage of the common room. "So long as you can find something clean..."

"Course!" Emily disappeared into a bedroom set off to the right as Naomi hovered, unsure, at the back of the sofa, her eyes trailing along the pictures on the coffee table. "Here you are. Might be a bit small, but should work in a pinch...oh."

Emily halted with a folded tee and pair of shorts outstretched in her hand as she saw the picture which held Naomi's attention. It was a family photo from a couple years earlier, Emily and Katie standing just behind their younger brother and in front of their parents, the two of whom loomed over the three resolutely, a hand on each daughter's shoulder as cliffs gave way to an azure sea behind them and an invisible breeze toyed with their efforts to corral their hair.

Naomi blinked and turned to her host. "Right, sorry. Loo's through there, then?"

Emily nodded and handed over the clothes. The door closed behind Naomi and Emily took a seat on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward slightly to pick up the picture frame and look at it more closely: the forced smiles on all their faces—except her father's. She wasn't sure he knew how to fake a smile without it looking like something out of a horror movie. To her mother, she knew, it came second-nature.

She set the picture back down on the table and stood as Naomi exited, her damp clothes wadded up in a ball. "So..."

"I'll take those," Emily offered. She crossed to a door next to the pantry and opened it to reveal a combination washer/dryer. The damp clothes were separated and tossed in one by one. She started it on a dry cycle and rounded on her guest. Emily crossed her arms over her chest. "So, did you want to get those back tomorrow, or...?"

Naomi chewed at the cuticle on her thumb and shrugged. "I wasn't planning on coming to practice tomorrow."

"I never said anything about practice," said the brunette, her eyebrow slowly raising helpfully.

The door slammed open and Katie shuffled in, tossing her swim bag onto the floor of the entry. She took a step into the flat and came up short, a confused look quickly darkening her features. Her narrowing eyes moved back and forth between Emily—standing rigid next to the washer/dryer—and Naomi, lingering awkwardly in the middle of the room in Emily's clothes.

"What the fuck is this?" Katie asked no one in particular. She looked back and forth between her sister and her teammate, but neither spoke; Emily looked down at her feet, chewing at her bottom lip.

"I was just leaving, actually," supplied Naomi.

"You're right about that," snapped Katie, stepping aside as Naomi grabbed her swim bag from where she'd left it next to the sofa and hurried out the open door. The older Fitch slammed the door shut behind her, causing Emily to jump. "Well? Thought you'd get a shag in after practice?"

"It's not like that!" Emily said hurriedly as she felt a hot prickling begin to form at the corners of her eyes. She knew that tone of voice too well. There was no way this would end well—for either of them. "Katie, I swear it wasn't."

"You're a terrible liar," Katie hissed, her lisp threatening to overcome years of practice and therapy to lessen its affectations. She stormed past Emily into her bedroom and slammed the door shut, leaving Emily alone in the main room to slide down the wall to the floor, her head leaned back against the drywall and shamed tears trickling down her cheeks.


	10. Just Skip Stones in the Shade

**A/N** : To quell any worries I was cheating on the fandom or abandoning our favorite Generation...I offer chapter 10. I've never been more nervous about a chapter in my life. So I ask you, either way, please let me know what you think! Oh, and, **Irma** , sorry about the (sort of) cliffhanger. You know I had to!

I don't own 'Skins.' Or the World Champion Chicago Cubs.

* * *

She heard Katie depart for practice on Saturday morning, though the sound was muffled by her shut (and locked) bedroom door. It wasn't surprising that she did so without saying goodbye, not after last night. Rolling over and readjusting her pillow, Emily stared blankly at the wall as her eyelids drooped shut again. She groaned and slapped at her phone two minutes later; the snooze reached its limit and the alarm blared again. Why couldn't the damn thing leave her to sulk in peace?

With a huff, Emily pulled aside the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed. Rubbing the heel of her palm against one eye, she winced at the feeling of being incredibly hungover—despite not having a single drink the previous evening. Crying for several hours alone was an unfortunate approximation it would seem. The source of the tears, if Emily was being honest with herself, was not entirely her sister; nor were they Naomi. Rather, she knew most of her bitterness and disgust and sadness derived from her own inability to simply speak to her sister and set the record straight. Everything unraveled so quickly: one moment it seemed she and Naomi were maybe, just maybe, circling around making plans to spend the next day together (today, now, Emily realized with a groan); the next, Katie was shattering her ideal weekend into a million pieces. Whether that was intentional or not, Emily knew her older sister's impetus was far from pure anger. Disagreements between the twins were far from simple and straightforward—that Emily came to understand several years earlier—but part of what made yesterday so painful was knowing Katie's motivations in this case...and being incapable of assuaging her fears.

The teen stood, swiping for her phone blindly yet with surprising accuracy, and shuffled out of the bedroom and into the loo, placing the mobile on the counter. She twisted knobs and allowed the water to warm as she went about the rest of her morning routine: mostly cleaning up the mess left behind by Katie after _her_ morning routine left the bathroom in a state of emergency. Soon enough, Emily was standing under the hot water, basking in its sensation along her shoulders and upper back. She idly tugged at her hair, losing herself in thought. The water fell all around her as Emily reminisced on a summer she'd prefer to forget completely. It was folly to believe those bitter memories could be eradicated, however. Instead, until just recently, Emily poured all her energy into the singular pursuit of an Olympic medal. Katie, on the other hand, learned from the experience that her younger sister prioritized a few gratifying rendezvouses over achieving success in the pool; thus, she emphatically misconstrued Naomi's presence in their flat and applied the lessons learned as scathingly as she could. Of course, as petty as it seemed, Katie's intentions rested on the overprotective side of the spectrum, not the spiteful side. It rarely came off as such, however.

Emily cleaned herself, shut off the water, and snatched for her towel. As she dried off, her mobile chirped from the counter. Tiptoeing across the tile, she wrapped her darkly wet hair around her ear and hoisted the phone.

/Make sure you and your sister are at dinner tomorrow evening. 7 sharp/

"Shit," whispered Emily as her eyes drifted up from the mobile to the mirror. A resigned misery threatened to darken her features and sour her weekend. The prospect of having to spend an evening around the table with their mother could never be considered a highlight of any weekend itinerary. Moreover, with the team leaving for Barcelona in just three weeks, Emily did not need her mother deciding to resume her college-era intrusive parenting. She looked into her mirrored eyes. "I need a distraction."

Her phone rang. The sound reverberated around the tiny bathroom, stunning the swimmer. She looked down, dreading that it would be her mother following up on her text with some sort of egregious demand that she only wear green and Katie only wear fuschia. But it was not her mother; far from it. No, the name on her phone rattled Emily far more. Hand shaking, Emily swiped her thumb across the screen to accept the call and brought the device to her ear.

"He...hello?"

"Emily, dear, hi! It's Gina." The younger Fitch twin blinked, pulling the phone away and double-checking that it did, indeed, say 'Naomi.' She hastily pressed the mobile back to her damp head. Gina was rambling on, oblivious to Emily's confusion. "...so you can imagine my surprise when my darling daughter traipsed downstairs in a shirt I've never seen in my life."

"Oh?" Emily said airily, her face turning crimson despite being starkly alone and out of sight of the caller.

"Love, I'm hardly in a position to judge, and Lord knows my daughter would do well to be sorted every once in awhile—she's hardly an easy person to warm up to—but..."

"Mum!" A shriek came through the phone and the rustling static of someone jerking the phone away from its user. Emily's heart pounded as if she were finishing the one hundred freestyle. Several exasperated breaths came through the speaker mixed with hurried footfalls. Finally, Naomi spoke directly to her. "Jesus, I'm _so_ sorry you had to deal with that. I was in the loo and she hijacked my fucking mobile."

Emily looked around at her own surroundings and shook her head sympathetically. "You can never trust mothers."

"That's the truth," agreed Naomi. "So..."

"So you want your own clothes back so your mum will leave you alone and not ruin your lovely Bristol weekend?"

"You make it sound like such a big request," pouted Naomi.

The comment garnered a small smile. Pinning the mobile between her ear and clavicle, Emily clutched the towel around her in one hand as she padded across the living room to the small closet next to the pantry. She opened it and gazed at the hanging clothes. "It is, seeing as how you ran out yesterday without so much as a goodbye."

Silence hung over the flat. Emily's mind whirred. _Did I really just say that? Why did I say that?_

Naomi sat, deflated, on the edge of her bed. She replayed the previous afternoon in her head as neither spoke for several seconds. Just as Naomi considered breaking the silence, an outside actor did so for her. Her door popped open unexpectedly and Naomi jolted into the air.

"Naomi, dear, did you need me to put on some tea for you and Emily? I assume she's coming over."

"Mum, get out!" Naomi stormed across the room and slammed the door shut in her mother's face. On the landing, Gina waited a beat before smiling and walking back downstairs. Inside the safe confines of her bedroom, Naomi closed her eyes and beat her head against the door. _I need to get away from her_. Blue eyes snapped open. "Can we go somewhere?"

Many kilometers away, Emily's breath caught in her throat and she clutched at Naomi's shirt, pulling it off its hanger. "Where?"

"Anywhere."

Emily balled the shirt up against her breast and turned, leaning against the washer/dryer. "We can," she began tentatively. "But we had to take the auto in earlier this week, so I'm sort of stranded in Bath."

Naomi burst out in peals of laughter, bringing the other girl on the opposite end of the phone with her. "So Bath first?"

"Unless you'd rather spend the rest of the day with Gina and not get your things until Monday..."

"I'll be there in 30 minutes," Naomi assured her in a rush.

* * *

"I'm coming; Jesus, patience is a virtue, you know!" Emily shouted as she weaved around furniture on her way from the bedroom to the front door of her flat. She gathered her breath and pulled the door open.

Her eyebrow arched and arms crossed defensively, Naomi smirked. "Aye, and it's one I lack, I'm afraid."

"Well, I'll try to overlook that." Emily stepped out of the flat and locked the door behind her. She turned back to her teammate, extending a set of folded, dry clothes for Naomi's inspection. "Sorry about getting you wet yesterday."

"Emilly, you give nice hugs, but not _that_ nice," Naomi quipped with a smirk as she took the bundle of clothes from the brunette and started down the stairs.

Emily's eyes shut as a tidal wave of embarrassment crashed over her. Nevertheless, a tiny part of her brain rejoiced that, at the very least, Naomi approved of her unbidden hug. "I meant your clothes."

"You really can be an easy mark when you're flustered," Naomi pivoted and squinted through the July sun up the stairs. "It's not a bad thing. C'mon." Emily rolled her eyes and quickly descended to the walk below, falling in beside Naomi as they walked to the blonde's auto. Naomi asked, "So, just the one car for both of you?"

"Mum and Dad believe each of us having one would spoil us and make Katie and I 'insufferable, entitled bitches.'"

"Who're you quoting there?" Naomi gestured to her compact car as they split; Emily squeezed between a silver sedan and the sun-faded blue of Naomi's car, slipped through the door. Naomi settled into the driver's side simultaneously.

"Katie as she complained about the situation literally the entire drive back from Bristol last summer." They backed out slowly and Naomi navigated them out of the car park and onto the University's roads. Emily gazed out the window pensively, chewing her lip. After a couple silent minutes, she turned back to her chauffeur. "Can we make a pact?"

Naomi upturned the palm not grasping the steering wheel. "Depends. Are we talking a Jim Jones-style suicide pact, or more Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action?"

Her passenger lolled her head towards Naomi. She shrugged. "Actually I was thinking something like 'The Resolution to Make No Further Mention of Our Mothers Today.'"

Nodding sagely, Naomi extended her right arm across her body and emphatically shook Emily's hand. "We have an accord, though I'm surprised you're not banning sisters as well, after..."

As Naomi released her hand and began fiddling with the dial for the radio, Emily turned as best she could to look at her teammate. "Naomi, about what happened yesterday..."

"It's fine," said the blonde in a rush. One of Rudimental's ready-for-summer hits off their new album began playing from the radio in the background. Naomi maneuvered the car into Bath proper, artfully dodging oblivious pedestrians as she sought a coveted parking spot.

"It's not fine, actually. You didn't have to leave just because Katie showed up."

"But I kind of did, you know?" Naomi hazarded a glance at Emily and her heart sank at the despondent look in her brown eyes. Naomi's brow furrowed. "Why'd she look like she wanted to eviscerate me?"

"Great word, if a bit overdramatic."

Naomi scoffed. "You weren't in my shoes. Honestly, it was frightening."

"Katie can have that effect when you least expect it," admitted Emily. "But it wasn't personal, Naomi. She saw you in my clothes, put two and two together, and got five."

"Aha!" Naomi deftly parallel parked her auto on Weston Road and turned off the ignition. She turned to Emily gravely. "What's that supposed to mean?"

 _That I fancy you and it's impossible to hide it from her._ Emily swallowed and tried to keep her voice steady as she looked into Naomi's eyes. "It means I might want to make an amendment to that resolution from earlier."

The blue-eyed teen arched an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly into the space between their seats. "And if I don't agree?"

Emily's tongue flicked across her bottom lip of its own accord and she strained to maintain eye contact with Naomi even as her heart thundered away in her chest. "Naomi, I—"

 _Plunk!_

Both girls gasped, recoiling against their seats as a golf ball skittered across the windshield and bounced into the road; an errant drive from the course along their side of the road. Emily closed her eyes and fought to steady her breathing. She looked sidelong at Naomi, and after a moment they both erupted in laughter. When it subsided, Emily frowned.

"We're here?"

Naomi nodded. "I'm sure you've been to Royal Victoria Park loads since you go to school here, but Mu—a woman one generation older than myself in my family—brought me here ages ago and I remember it being rather lovely."

"Mmm. So naturally, it being lovely and all, you immediately thought to bring me here?"

"No! I mean, I dunno!" Naomi's eyes flitted around the car; ultimately, they rolled up in exasperation. She popped open the driver's side door. "Just, give it a chance, yeah?"

Her teammate smiled beautifully and exited on her side, on the lookout for more wayward tee shots. "If you insist."

"I do," said Naomi simply and crossed the street. They fell apace of one another, alternatively studying the wrought-iron fence, thick foliage, and sprawling ferns on their right, and the perfectly manicured golf course sweeping up rolling hills on the far side of the street.

"It's a beautiful fence," commented Emily dryly after they'd walked for a couple minutes. "Was there more to the park, or was this the big draw?"

Naomi rolled her eyes. They reached a corner and she swept her hand out in front of them. "I give you Royal Victoria Park, Your Majesty."

Emily curtsied sarcastically and strode past Naomi, past the low stone wall adorned with plaques notating the entrance to the Park, and across the quiet access road winding further away into the Park. She stopped at the top of the path, following its slow descent down a wide kelly green slope beneath twin rows of maples and elms and beeches and the occasional cherry tree; dappled shadows cloaked the long diagonal paths on their trip across the Park towards the lakes near the bottom of the hill. Naomi silently joined Emily in surveying the natural beauty of the site. Movement drew her gaze upwards, however, and she elbowed Emily in the side.

"What?"

"Look, Em," she said reverently. Naomi pointed above the trees and wide mall. A half dozen brightly striped hot air balloons ascended lazily, their red, yellow, and blue striped canopies brilliantly visible against the morning sky. They studied the steady climb of the balloons as their feet carried them down a path, the green leaves of trees momentarily blotting out the view. Naomi smiled as she chanced a look down to Emily next to her; the brunette met her gaze with a grin. "So what shall we do? Miniature golf? Walk the Aerial Walkway? Take the Gravel Road to Gay Street?"

Emily tripped, stumbling as she did. Naomi lunged and steadied the brunette, who looked up at her with wide eyes—eyes that quickly morphed from surprise to understanding upon seeing Naomi's smirk. Emily groused, "Easy mark, huh?"

"Relatively speaking."

"Well, you should know better than to suggest any sport requiring eye-hand coordination. We're swimmers; did you forget?"

"I happen to be a halfway decent putter," Naomi asserted. She steered them to the right and down a narrow path winding across the carriage road and into a more heavily wooded part of the park. "But fair point. Aerial Walkway it is."

The two teens continued to explore the Botanical Gardens nestled in the northeast corner of the Park, following the paths as they ascended up to the Greater Dell Aerial Walkway built deep within the Gardens. The luscious, vibrant flora surrounding them rustled lightly with a late morning breeze; Emily shivered as the temperature slipped slightly in the shady Gardens. Naomi guided them to the wooden balustrade, large veined leaves drooping within reach on the other side. She rested her arms on the wood, staring into the trees where a goldfinch hopped along a branch.

Emily let her gaze wander up the trunk of a nearby tree, down a branch, and found herself staring at Naomi's intent face. The blonde was completely engrossed in observing the dainty little bird as it flitted back and forth; her blue eyes shone.

"It's peaceful," she remarked without warning.

Caught off guard, Emily blinked. She opened and closed her mouth twice without saying anything; instead, she looked back into the trees and joined Naomi in watching the goldfinch. Deliberately, she rested her arms straight out on the thick railing in such a way that her arm grazed Naomi's. She smiled. "And no mothers in sight."

The blonde quickly glanced around the Aerial Walkway: they were completely alone. She bit her bottom lip, studying the gentle curve of Emily's nose, how her eyes glittered as she continued watching the finch—now joined by its mate—move from branch to branch. Naomi inhaled. "No anyone in sight, actually."

 _Really?_ Emily's head snapped around too eagerly, confirming Naomi's assertion. She slowly returned her attention to the taller girl as her heart rate quickened once more. _It's a fucking beautiful Botanical Garden with song birds and sunlight and..._

A shrill ringing mobile in her back pocket. Emily gritted her teeth to restrain the scream on the verge of erupting. She pulled the offending device out and her grip around the phone tightened. " _What_ , Katie?"

"Jesus fuck, try not to sound like I just interrupted you mid-shag. Wait, you weren't..."

Emily rolled her eyes. "It's eleven in the morning, Katie. Only you would have a double-standard about morning shags." Naomi looked at her, confusion written across her face, but Emily just shook her head. Naomi, as if understanding, nodded and leaned against the railing.

"That's not the point. Did you get mum's text?" Katie demanded. "Why can't the woman bloody leave us alone?"

"One, I did get it. Two, that's genetically impossible. You should know, Kay, as you inherited the intrusive gene."

"I'm just looking out for us. You better not have burnt anything in the kitchen while I was gone."

Emily threw a hand in the air in disbelief. "That was one time! And for your information, I didn't cook anything this morning; I've had other things to do. I'll see you this afternoon."

Before Katie could fit a final word into the conversation, Emily ended the call and put her phone on silent. She let out a breath, ridding herself of the inherent frustration that often accompanied a phone call from her twin. "Sorry 'bout that."

Naomi attempted to act indifferent, but she could sense the disappointment beginning to creep into her expression. "It's fine."

"So, with mini golf out, what's next?"

The blonde piqued an eyebrow, willing herself to not dwell on their second almost-kiss of the morning. "Fudge?"

* * *

The car door slammed shut and Katie put the key in the ignition. Moments later, they were leaving the repair shop and headed westward towards Bristol. At each stop sign or traffic signal, she glanced over at Emily, who painstakingly put the finishing touches on her make up as they drove to their obligated family dinner. The older twin tapped her thumbs on the wheel along with the beat of the song surging out of the speakers and through the car. "So what're we telling Mum about our new teammate?"

"What new teammate?" Emily asked innocuously as she applied eye liner between bumps and swerves to avoid potholes.

"The one you frolicked about Bath with yesterday."

Emily failed at burying a smile. Her defense sounded weak. "There was no frolicking."

"Right, course there wasn't." Katie fell silent for a moment. She attempted a more conciliatory tone, though it seemed forced even to her own ears. "Look, Em. Just...don't let whatever this is becoming with Naomi keep us from accomplishing our goals. I know you haven't forgotten last time..."

"So stop reminding me!" retorted Emily. She crossed her arms and stared out the passenger side window as Katie chewed her lip and drove silently towards their parent's house. After traveling ten minutes in contentious silence, Emily finally resumed finishing her makeup. "I know you're just trying to help, Katie. But I promise you, Naomi's not her, and I'm not the same girl I was then. I think we tell mum the truth: we've had a new swimmer join the team and she's better than Michelle was in her prime."

"And we just gloss over the whole spending an entire fucking Saturday together in Bath instead of being at practice because you won some stupid set?"

Katie turned onto their street and slowed down, arresting the car's movement along the curb out front of the perfectly manicured front lawn. She looked over at her sister expectantly.

The younger twin finished the last touches and stashed her makeup in the glove compartment. Emily looked Katie in the eye and cocked her head. "How do I put this simply? Yes." Without waiting on a retort, she left Katie sitting alone in the car with her thoughts.

Sighing, she climbed out of the car and stood next to Emily on the sidewalk, studying the front façade of their childhood home: it looked precisely as she remembered it. Katie took her sister's hand in hers. As if to reassure herself, she whispered, "It's just a couple hours and then we're back on our own."

"Please back me up tonight, Katie."

"You two have to talk at some point, Em."

"I know. I know," she repeated. Emily looked at her sister hopefully. "Stronger together?"

"Stronger together." Katie squeezed her hand and they set off across the yard just as their mother opened the door to greet them, her eyes hard. Somewhere down the hill behind their home, a church clock tower dutifully tolled 7 bells.


	11. Intricate Scenes Beyond Your Mind

**A/N** : Consider this an early Christmas present for all you awesome readers, okay? And maybe I'll be responsible and update again before the calendar turns. We'll see. **Irma** , **marsupial** , I'm at it again; I'm not that sorry. Thank you so much for all the incredible reviews to the last chapter. Also, I've been incredibly blessed this year in getting to know some absolutely outstanding writers this year, so while I'm sure most everyone has read and finished TBWITB by now, if you're not reading stuff by **fragrantlily** and **mswitsend** , that's foolishness. (wit: I'm pretty sure I got some basic stuff right, but it's been a long time and I'm counting on you to hold me accountable this chapter and the next couple, please). **Amp** ; glad you're still with me on this as well. And I'd be remiss if I didn't give a shout-out to the **guest** reviewer/swimmer. Welcome to the best fandom around and I hope the swimming descriptions continue to do it justice.

Now, I'll get out of my own way and let you all enjoy a FFD and some shenanigans. Swimming's coming back with a vengeance in Ch12-hold tight! I don't own 'Skins.'

* * *

The kitchen smelled like the inside of the locker within which a careless teammate left their sweaty dry land clothes, a wet towel, and four banana peels when they broke their foot and couldn't compete for six months. Instantly revolted, Katie gagged and turned around, finding herself trapped in the doorway by her mother.

"Something wrong, Katiekins?"

The eldest Fitch child swallowed with difficulty and winced a smile. "Have to use the loo, mum."

"Well, hurry up and wash your hands when you're done; you two're already late," Jenna Fitch stepped aside, allowing Katie to seek refuge in the small hall powder room. Katie shot a quick, apologetic look at Emily as she shut the door to block the thoughts of her mother—and the smell—from following her.

Left alone, Emily hesitantly stepped into the dining area; the table already set for five waited coldly. Nevertheless, the massive form of her father rose from his seat at the head of the table to greet her with the warmest smile she'd seen from him in a long time.

"Emily, luv."

"Hi, Dad," she smiled in return, embracing him. She looked up as he released her and placed strong hands on her shoulders, gripped her arms.

"You've been lifting more. I _always_ say—"

Emily nodded, amused. "'Reps, reps, reps,' I know. Coach Darrick's made it a point of emphasis for us breastrokers leading up to the World Championships."

"As he should!" Rob Fitch grinned toothily and stepped past Emily to pour himself a glass of wine. "How do you think they will go, Emsy?"

"Worlds?" she asked in clarifying. He nodded, glancing at his wife who seemed to be half-listening as she plated their dinner. Emily took her seat, her back to her mother as her father returned to his seat. Emily locked eyes with her father. "I'm...not sure."

The door to the loo opened and Katie strutted to her seat, her features pinched by the effort to will away the horrendous smells perfuming the house. She caught Emily's clarifying response and hesitancy to commit to a good outcome at their upcoming meet; the older twin contributed her thoughts as she sat down on the far side of the table from Emily, one spot closer to her mother as was customary. "We're not even tapering completely for it; Darrick thinks we'll get more out of a full one in December for short course and the Duel."

"Right, the Duel in the Pool is over here, innit?" Rob looked over at his wife. "Did you hear that, Jenna? It's in..."

"Glasgow, right before Christmas," supplied Katie as she looked down at the table. Her efforts to ignore her mother were unnecessary, however: Jenna barely acknowledged them as she finished situating the meal on each plate.

"I think we can make it up for that. Maybe see if Gran can make it."

"So long as the girls don't embarrass us again like they did the last time we brought our parents to a meet," Jenna said in a level voice. The underlying threat—and reminder of their failure in London the previous year—lingered uncomfortably in the air for several moments. Emily looked diagonally across the table at almost-identical brown eyes that reflected the same anguish, regret, and simmering frustration that their mother could not suffer five minutes without eviscerating their self-confidence or undercutting their accomplishments. The matriarch of the Fitch family eventually cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders, and began ferrying plate after plate to the table. "James, get down here!"

Heavy footfalls moved down the front stairs as the twins' younger brother attempted to express his unhappiness with being interrupted mid-Playstation session. He made a gagging sound as he entered the dining area and pulled back the chair next to Emily.

"It smells like someone dumped rubbish in a pot." James saw the thin spongy yellow cake on his plate covered in a lumpy cream-colored sauce and scrunched up his face. "Uh, why did someone wank off on a mushy banana and put it on the table?"

"Rob!" Jenna screeched as the twins both covered their smiles and looked away.

"Watch your tongue, boy,"

"Is that not what it looks like?" James argued, picking up the plate slightly and displaying it for the table.

His mother stuck up her chin. "It's a durian pancake with blended sardine sour cream and a roots and herbs salad."

Katie poked at her helping; meanwhile, Emily hesitantly nibbled on a sharp-leaved green and a crunchy, pale slice of what she could only imagine was the 'root' portion of the salad. She repressed a shudder and swallowed it down. Her older sister, on the other hand, fared less successfully at starting out the meal tactfully.

"Mum, like, I'm sure this is in a healthy cookbook somewhere, but, where's the protein? We're competing in weeks, yeah, and we're supposed to be at an 8k caloric intake."

Jenna paused, chewing a miniscule bite of her pancake. She swallowed, dabbed at the edges of her lips and pressed them into a thin line. Her eyebrows narrowed. "Are you suggesting I don't have the best intentions for your nutrition in mind?"

Katie rose to the challenge despite her twin's imploring look across the table. She rolled her eyes extravagantly and threw her hands up. "That's not at all what I said! Shit, Jesus."

A sharp inhalation silenced the room. In a low tone, Jenna replied, "You could be a little more grateful, Katherine."

"Mum, Katie's not ungrateful. Neither of us are. We just want to be in peak form."

"And I suppose you were in peak form when you got your sister and the rest of your relay disqualified at the Olympics, hmm?" Jenna leaned forward; Emily's eyes sunk to her lap. "Do you know what your father and I sacrificed to make sure the two of you—"

"Hey!" protested James.

"—And you too, sure, dear—had the best opportunities to succeed. Your father and I had to make our own way to get that far when we were competing. You two don't..." She shook her head and looked to her left at Katie. "You're very lucky Katie was at least able to medal in her individual event."

" _I'm_ lucky?!" Emily shouted, her voice wavering. The corners of her eyes welled up with salty tears. Angrily, she looked between both parents. "Don't you know how much that relay affects me every time I get in the water? I hated that I ruined our chance—in front of a home crowd, not to mention Chelle's last race. Can't you just say something supportive to either of us, just once?"

Emily stood up, furiously swiping a hand across damp cheeks. She extended her palm across the table. "Can I have the keys, Katie?"

"You sit back down at this table, right now, Emily," demanded her mother.

"They're in the dish by the door," her twin supplied with a nod in the direction of the hall.

"Let her go, luv," Rob Fitch said simultaneously as Emily rushed from the room. The front door slammed shut and an uncomfortable silence returned to the meal.

"Please go get her, Katie."

"No, Mum." She turned to the women on her right. Jenna blinked in surprise at the blatant refusal to acquiesce to her demands. "Emily works harder than anyone else on the team. We see it; Coach sees it. You just tore her to shreds; I'm not getting her. 'Sides, if it wasn't for Emily, we'd never have gotten an upgrade over Michelle."

The words were out before Katie grasped that the conversation shifted. Her eyes widened and, without considering the consequences, shoved a massive piece of pancake and cream into her mouth. A nauseous wave crashed through her digestive system at the smell and flavor; she gagged and grabbed for a glass of water. Her own voice bubbled to the top of her conscience, repeating the reassuring phrase the twins clung to as they arrived home; she steeled herself for Jenna's response.

"You've got a new teammate? I bet she's fit as fuck; swim girls are always fit," James said solemnly. Katie lunged across the table in frustration, but her younger brother pushed his chair backwards out of reach.

"What did I say about that word? Ten reps. Go." scolded Rob as Jenna stared intently at her blushing daughter. James shoved back from the table and slunk over to the pull up bar wedged into the doorway.

The youngest Fitch groaned loudly, but muttered, "All I said was 'fit.'"

"Not that word!"

Jenna's focus, though, rested with Katie's final comment. "What do you mean, 'if it weren't for Emily?' She's not..."

"Not what, Mum?" Katie turned back to her mother, the rage about her mother's earlier comments returning in full. "Just say it."

Jenna turned up her nose and made a haughty sound. "Conspiring to ruin my daughter's focus on her career and on her traditional values. If it wasn't for that horrid girl, maybe Emily would have performed better in Shanghai. You need to look out for her; she's not as mature as you."

Katie scoffed. "You're having a laugh. Do you even know your own daughters?" She looked between her parents as James struggled to complete his reps in between her and her route of escape from this childhood prison of a home. "This isn't a conversation you need to have with me; it's one you should have with her. If you can be civil. All you need to worry about, Mum, is that we have a new teammate and Emily's her only friend—and she's honestly an improvement on Michelle, so just be happy for us, for once?"

The eldest Fitch child pushed back from the table and quickly sidled between the chest along the side wall and her mother's seat. Katie bumped James out of the way; he tumbled to the ground, catching himself amid a flurry of choice words for his older sister, her response of 'Fuck off, worm,' drowned out by the slamming of the front door.

Emily looked up sharply as the driver's side door opened, the dome light flicked on, and Katie slipped into the seat, her hands shaking as she gripped the steering wheel. The keys swayed from the ignition; the local pop radio station emitted Frank Turner's newest single into the car. The yellow interior light faded gradually, leaving the sisters in the darkness of the car with only the red glow of knobs and buttons to illuminate the car.

"She tried to have a go about—"

"I'm sure she did," replied Emily bitterly, knowing where Katie was taking the conversation before she arrived. "Look, can we just go?"

"You got it," agreed Katie as she put the car in gear and slowly pulled away. Neither bothered glancing back to see Jenna letting the drapes flutter back into place as they departed.

* * *

There was a buzz to the city, an infectious undercurrent throbbing through the streets, off the stirring buildings with their diverse façades; reverberating from the rooftops encapsulating the park; stalking along the tables of cafés beneath palm trees swaying in the salty breeze. A giant sculpture of a black cat prowled the opposite side of the stone plaza in the twilight. Street music wheedled up and down the Rambla del Raval.

"Fuck me, that's a big pussy," commented Cook, awe-struck. A chorus of groans rose around him and he spun, backpedaling from the group. "Ah, c'mon, mates! Just a joke."

"That only a thirteen year old would find amusing," retorted Katie (Effy flashed ten fingers as a counter and they both got the bird from their brash teammate) as the older twin pointed at a jumble of table and chairs spilling out onto the stone walk, most of which were still empty. "I think we can all fit there."

Freddie nodded and motioned for JJ to join him in hurrying over to push three tables together. The curly-haired team manager set to the task with fervor; as the rest of the teammates arrived at the tables, Emily gently grabbed his elbow at noticing his repeated counting of the seats around the several tables. "There's enough, Jay. It's alright."

"Right. Just...never mind. Think it's residual stress from the flight." He scratched his head. "I could use a soda right now."

"Uh, sorry? 'A soda?'" mocked Katie from across the circular teal-and-purple tiled table. She flagged down a server. "If we're drinking and have events in two days, then you're not getting off that easy...Hi, uh," She did a quick headcount. "Four pitchers of sangria please."

"But you know I don't drink! We're in a foreign country and alcohol can decrease the effectiveness of the immune system for up to 24 hours and...I don't really want to get sick. I'm healthy and you all should want to be healthy too, if you're serious about competing and—"

"It's just like fruit juice," justified Freddie with a shake of his head. "You won't even believe it."

"That's what I'm afraid of," JJ grumbled as two servers returned with the ordered pitchers and a wobbly stack of plastic cups.

"I'll look out for you, Jay," whispered Emily as she took a cup and passed the stack on to the unsure teen next to her. "But you don't have to."

He chewed his lip and finally took a cup to a wave of cheers. He smiled sheepishly and allowed Effy to silently pour him a glass. At the far end of the table, Cook finished his entire cup in one long gulp, smacking his lips at the end and reaching for the nearest pitcher.

"So, since we're in Spain, looks like we need some shots of—"

"Please don't say tequila," whispered Emily.

Her friend grinned triumphantly. "Now that you mention it..."

Naomi finished a long drink of sangria and leaned forward, bewildered. "Cook, you do know that tequila comes from the agave plant, which is native to _México_?"

"So? I'm confused." He drained half another glass of sangria.

"We're in España."

"They both speak Spanish," protested Cook.

Ignoring Naomi's judgmental look, he clasped Katie on the shoulder, much to her visible displeasure. "You'll join me in doing tequila shots, won't you Katie?"

"Uh, like fuck I will. We have practice in the morning." She waggled her nearly empty cup of sangria. "I'll stick with the fruit juice tonight."

"Yous are no fun. We're at least eating, right?" The server overhead the question as she walked past from a different table and paused pointedly. Cook looked around and shrugged. "So, d'you have, like, fish and chips or..."

"Fucking hell," interjected his blonde teammate with a roll of her eyes. "Dos paellas, por favor."

The waiter smiled warmly and nodded before heading into the small restaurant. Emily felt a tingle ripple down her spine; she hastily downed what remained of her sangria and poured herself another glass. Unwittingly, she looked up and found a knowing smirk meeting her gaze. Emily broke eye contact with Effy as quickly as it was made and awkwardly looked around them at the scene of Barcelona in the evening.

* * *

Three hours later—Cook shoving JJ and Freddie deeper into the warren of streets in El Raval in search of a bar in which to properly ring in the World Championships—and their stomachs filled with rice, seafood, and beans, Effy herded the ladies in the complete opposite direction towards the hotel. Emily had one arm loosely draped over her sister's shoulders as they weaved amicably along a cobblestone street hardly wide enough for one auto. Naomi took careful steps, repeating a mantra of 'walk in a straight line, walk in a straight line, walk in a (stumble) straight line, shit,' under her breath as she trailed the trio. They stumbled along through an intersection; Emily happened to look up to her right and let her arm drop from Katie's shoulder.

"Shit, Ef. I don't think so, babes," chided Katie simultaneously as her teammate attempted to walk up to a local and drag her finger along his jaw. Effy protested, but Katie steered her further along the street and past the empty entrance of a police station nestled into the building between an electronics store and a hookah lounge, the alluring aromas wafting into the night. Effy turned her face towards them, inhaled, and let her head loll onto Katie's shoulder.

"Let's stop."

"Fat chance. We're getting you back to the flat. No sense in Darrick taking more than his pound of flesh in the morning, yeah?"

Effy patted Katie on the arm as if she was moving through molasses. "So wise."

"Fucking sangria," the twin whispered as she nudged Effy along towards the apartment hotel the national team—and the teams of a half dozen smaller nations—chose for housing during the World Championships.

Behind them, Emily stood rooted in the T-shaped intersection, her attention entirely devoted to a massive abstract mural painted on the side of a building; two spotlights inlayed into the sidewalk illuminated the piece. Geometric shapes in a rainbow of colors interwove across the stone and plaster, wrapping onto a short wall up the side street. She tilted her head to the side as a presence hovered just over her shoulder.

"Does that look like a fork coming out of a chemistry set to you?" she asked to Naomi without turning towards her teammate.

"More like a swimming pool with the lane stripes on MDMA...and an Irish dartboard," the blonde mused.

Emily laughed freely and nodded. "I can see that." She snapped her attention across the street to a ramp. "Where d'you think that goes?"

"Well," Naomi linked her arm through Emily's and set off for the switchbacking ramp. "Shall we take a detour?"

"We shall," replied Emily, looking up enraptured as they crossed the street. After a moment, she looked down in embarrassment. _What are you doing, Emily?_

The two teens reached the top of the ramp and followed the walk as it curved in a semicircle around a copse of trees and the barely-intact ancient structure of a monastery that pre-dated the Middle Ages. They walked slowly, Emily's inner monologue rebounding between a sangria-fueled pole insisting she take advantage of this opportunity to be alone with Naomi while she had the chance—in Barcelona of all places—and the other, nearly marginalized, rational part shouting that they go back to the hotel immediately.

"Sant Pau del Camp," intoned Naomi, once again her voice sounding so foreign to Emily's ear in the best way possible.

"Mmm, sorry?"

"The monastery," the taller girl clarified. She pointed at the informational post to their right as they wandered past it.

"'12th Century!' Emily exclaimed as she caught a bit of information for herself. She looked up at Naomi, worried. "Did they have sangria then?"

"Haven't the foggiest." She pointed out a bar on the other side of the park as they approached the edge of the urban green space. "That's one bar where Cook'd feel right at home, no?"

Emily squinted, leaning into Naomi's personal space as she peered into the darkness. Four words dripped like spilled blood across the establishment in question's black canopy: Hell Awaits Metal Bar. "Good catch, Naoms. We'll have to..."

Naomi tensed, freezing in place; she closed her eyes. There it was again, just as she'd let slip after practice some weeks earlier. _How can she make me feel so much with just a nickname?_

"Alright?" Emily asked slowly.

Naomi exhaled and smirked. She squinted down at Emily, one eye shut as if pronouncing something profound. "You're drunk on sangria."

Emily laughed and tugged them both forward. "Yes. I am. And you are, too."

"Am not!" Naomi protested a bit too loudly. "I'll tell you, Ems, it takes more than just a couple small glasses of...what's wrong with you?"

The brunette had frozen in place on the kerb as Naomi stepped into the one-way street, heart rate accelerating madly at how casually the affectionate name rolled off her teammate's tongue. _It's criminal; maybe she'll say it with some Spanish later...no!_

"Uh, yeah. Yeah." Emily smiled and linked their arms again, struggling to pretend everything was fine. The crossed the street and suddenly found themselves at the edge of a wide avenue spearing directly west and east into the night. "It's to the right, innit?"

"Right you are!" Naomi turned them and led them in a deft weave around locals dispensing from flats and small theatres and restaurants heading off to their next destination to kick their nights off properly along the Avinguda del Paral•lel. After a block of maneuvering amidst giggles and hastily pronounced judgments against those that bumped into them unnecessarily, the girls found themselves entering the lobby of the apartments.

An assistant coach lounged on a love seat to one side of the lobby, noting on a clipboard as each team member wandered through the entry towards the bank of elevators at the other side of the entrance. They waved and he flipped a hand up in greeting—the absolute bare minimum of a response. Naomi pressed the button and let out a small, shrill noise as the car behind them chimed immediately.

"What was that?" Emily demanded with a disbelieving laugh as they entered the elevator and Naomi selected their floor.

"I don't know what you're on about, Emily."

"That little, 'eep.'"

"I make no such sounds!" The blonde insisted, a chuckle interrupting the last word of her statement. She looked askance at Emily. "I don't."

Emily allowed herself a small, fleeting smile. "Right."

They exited the lift and padded down the carpeted hall to their suite of rooms. Emily fished the key out of the small purse slung over her shoulder, slid it into the keyhole on the fifth try (much to Naomi's amusement), elbowed the other teen good-naturedly, and turned the knob. The two stepped into the common room and glanced shyly at one another. The door to the communal bathroom was shut with light and the sound of running water stealing out from under the wooden door. The door to the bedroom on the left stood shut as well; no light visible around its edges alluded to Effy's ability to immediately pass out upon returning from their nights out on the town. Opposite, the doorway to the twins' bedroom spilled soft yellow light into the living room between sleeping quarters.

"Katie must be in the shower," Emily observed tentatively.

"Sangria turns you into quite the detective," Naomi teased. She glanced at the closed door behind her. "Well, I'll...see you in the morning, yeah?"

"Yeah. Right," the brunette said. She bit her lip, gaze flickering between the floor and Naomi's brilliant blue eyes. "Well, goodnight, then."

"'Night." The blonde girl smiled awkwardly and turned away, eyes closing of their own accord as she chided herself for being a bloody coward.

"Naomi..." Emily's soft voice seemed like a shout in the half-light of the common room. In the background, the sound of running water cut off and they both glanced at the shut door. Their eyes met a final time and Emily Fitch—nerves steeled by the lingering effects of the night's sangria—closed the gap between them before she could second guess herself with a unconscious lick of her lips. She stood on tiptoes, placed a steadying hand on the back of a sofa, and pressed her lips to Naomi's.

Before Naomi could properly comprehend the moment (though she'd certainly replay it well into the early hours of the morning beginning within minutes of its occurrence), Emily pulled away with another shy smile and closed the door to her bedroom behind her. Rooted to the carpet, Naomi stared after her, a hand shakily ghosting over her lips.

The bathroom door opened, snapping Naomi out of her reverie and she jumped visibly at the sight of a towel-clad Katie standing nonplussed across the room.

"What're you staring at, bitch?"

"Uh, nothing. Goodnight." Naomi fled into her room, slamming the door behind her and pressing her back to it as she winced; nevertheless, Effy could not be roused and Naomi breathed a sigh of relief she wouldn't have to face those inscrutable cobalt eyes. If there was a sight scarier than looking into Emily's eyes at that moment, Naomi was sure it'd be looking into Effy's. Instead, she crawled over to her double bed and collapsed on top of it as she set an alarm for practice in the morning. She smiled to herself and clenched the comforter as she whispered to herself, "Bienvenidos a Barcelona, Naomi."


	12. I Can Feel a Flash on My Good Side

**A/N:** I don't usually make sweeping declarations and pronouncements with Author's Notes, but I'm making an exception here to prove the rule. This fandom holds an incredibly special place in my heart and while I did not discover it during the golden age of fic writing during the actual airing of Series 3/4, since joining it over 4 years ago (holy cow, that long?!) not once have I felt that it has lost its vibrancy or its passion or its relevance. If anything, the Skins fandom as a whole-not just Naomily-is needed more than ever. Admittedly, there may not be as many active authors as there once were, but there's still a treasure trove of classic completed stories to read and re-read, a cadre of new writers just joining in the past year, and those of us toddling along putting out chapters here and there at somewhat regular intervals. The spirit of the fandom-of hope and friendship and loyalty and perseverance and overcoming the unconquerable, of love-that spirit lives on so long as only one of us keeps writing. Before I found Skins, I was a silent reader of many stories in other fandoms. Those stories shaped my love for those properties and helped me develop the love for writing I have today. Unfortunately, many of those authors will never know the impact they had; I was young, didn't appreciate the importance of the feedback loop. But I understand that some people don't always like to post reviews or register a login with a website _and that's completely okay_. Just knowing that there's one person out there reading what we write, that there's one other person joining in this celebration of these iconic (not an exaggeration) characters...it's enough, even if that one person doesn't write anything in return. So really, reviews and favs and follows are just gravy. Really, really tasty, wonderful encouraged gravy, but gravy nonetheless. Pointedly, if the concern is a numbers game, we've missed the point. I'm having the best time writing this story-and somehow, 10 years after Series 1 debuted, there's still others wanting to read about Skins. I think that's an incredible accomplishment for the show and for those of us who refuse to let it fade away. So in closing, don't lose hope or fear for this fandom. I know I don't. Because so long as we keep making it our own, how can it end?

Thanks in advance-you lot are about to somehow make this my most well-received Skins story. I don't own 'Skins.' Just the far too many grammatical errors I'm sure are below (and I know they're there because I keep finding them in rereads of old chapters and it drives me crazy. Sorry!).

* * *

Cook gritted his teeth against the fiery burning coursing through his musculature and extended his fingertips towards the touchpad. Abruptly, his body—which only instants before sliced through the water, shark-like—went limp and he twisted to look up at the digital board on the wall high above the far end of the pool. His eyes found his name in the spot designated for lane 2; focused on the four digits next to his name.

 _Ah, fuckin' hell_. He ripped the Union Jack-emblazoned swim cap from his head and slapped it against the water, sending a spout into the air. Cook climbed out shouting an emphatic, "Fuck!"

The sandy-haired snatched towel off the plastic chair, wiped it across his face, and glared at the timing board. He stormed across the slick tile of the pool deck and over to where Darrick leaned against the railing of the gallery a few feet above him. Cook shook his head.

"'Fore you say any rubbish 'bout how we's didn't taper or nothin', Coach, that don't justify swimming like shit."

The American-born coach looked up at Cook's time, which disappeared as the officials reset for the next event. He glanced down at his psych sheet and the splits jotted into the margin next to it. "That may be, but take a look at your first 50 split and tell me again that you swam like shit."

"Well, I wasn't in the 50 butterfly, now was I?" Cook's brow furrowed realizing that his first length split sat right about where he'd need it to take aim at the British record. "So I...was out fast?"

"Second at the turn, but since you were down here in lane two and did your turn to the right, you couldn't see the rest of the pool."

"Still not pleased with how badly I faded, Darrick, mate."

"I ain't tellin' you to get complacent, James. Never will. Just try to hold off on the angry curses until you've gotten the whole picture." Darrick nodded towards the busy diving well behind the starting blocks. The starter whistled loudly as a group of women stepped towards the blocks. "Go get a warm down in."

The teen flipped Coach Mercer a two-finger salute and headed away from the warm down pool, wet swim cap and goggles clenched in his left hand. His coach started to protest the flagrant disregard for his recommendation, but the shout died in his throat as he watched Cook approach the newest member of the national team.

Cook stepped between two timers and intruded on Naomi's personal space. He took her head in both his hands and rested his forehead against hers, gazing into black goggles. "Ready for this, Blondie?"

"Bet your fucking life, Cook." She exhaled and shook her shoulders. "Time to win."

"Tha's the spirit," he grinned. "Keep your head in between the bulkheads and you'll be fine."

There was a shrill beep as the first heat of the women's semifinals dove into the water. Naomi nodded as best she could and feigned ignorance. "Where else would it be?"

"In the seats about six rows up biting her lip, nervous as shit about your race." He pulled back, grabbed both of her bare shoulders and clenched. "Just swim, Naomi. You let me pull all the other strings."

The starter whistled Naomi's heat up to the blocks. She pulled away with a laugh. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Cook stepped back, watched his new friend approach the block with her towel and dry it quickly before launching the towel his direction. He caught it and looped it around his neck with a whoop of encouragement. He grinned, began walking towards the opposite end of the pool. His voice distorted slightly by the equipment, the starter directed the second and final semifinal heat onto the blocks. Cook started backpedaling, his vigilantly watching as Naomi clenched and unclenched her fingers, let them dangle over the rough surface of the block, and—with the direction to 'Take Your Mark'—pulled upwards on the lip of the blue starting block.

 _BEEP._

"GO NAOMI!" Emily shouted from the stands, standing with the rest of the team as a chorus of cheers and encouragements rained down on the water, despite all of them knowing full well their teammate could not hear their entreaties. The brunette twin's hair hung damp against the nape of her neck; she'd hardly taken her seat after warming down than the women's freestyle heats brought her to her feet. Next to her, Katie rose, clapping with the rest of the contingent occupying four rows of seats halfway up the stands. Effy—her view now blocked by the Fitches standing in the row below her—merely turned her head and watched the race unfold on the video board.

The eight women in the water surged down the pool, the sound of their splashes echoing inside the Palau Sant Jordi. The churning white water obscured any sort of visual distinction between the swimmers from lane to lane; instead, Emily narrowed her focus to the racer in lane 3 only. She cupped her hands over her mouth in anguish, hopping up and down nervously as the heat darted under the flags and approached the wall.

"I can't watch."

"Quit being over-dramatic," scolded Katie under her breath (behind them Effy overheard the exchange and rolled her eyes) before shouting loudly, "Come on, Campbell, you—"

"Shut it. GO...AHH!"

The crowd fell eerily silent as every swimmer touched the timing boards within a second and the computers sorted out the finish order...

On the pool deck, Cook leaned backwards in anticipation, urging the board to update. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the times cascaded across the board and the British contingent erupted: Cook leaped into the air and slipped upon landing, catching himself before he fell on the hard tile, but cheering nonetheless; Naomi confidently pumping her fist in the air in her lane as she looped one arm over the lane line for support; Effy smirking silently and dropping her heat sheet on the floor; Katie shouting incoherently; Emily grinning widely behind hands now steepled in front of her face in joy; Darrick whistling and clapping; Freddie blinking, confused, before being told by an ecstatic JJ that his teammate just placed first in her semifinal,was headed to the next night's finals as the second overall seed, and the tall boy began cheering appropriately.

The girls exited the pool and slowly made their way to the locker room or to the warm down pool; blocking Naomi's path to the latter stood Cook, arms crossed. She stopped, blue and red towel draped over a shoulder, goggles and cap clasped in one hand, a couple feet from him. He spread his arms wide, expecting a hug. "So, does this mean..."

Naomi scoffed; she stepped around him quickly. His come ons no longer took her by surprise; the initial entreaty certainly revolted her, but the thrice-practice suggestions they hook up during the pre-world championship National Team training camp dulled their impact. "In your dreams." Turning, she walked backwards with a deadly serious expression. "You do know what this _actually_ means though? And it has nothing to do with us—ugh—shagging."

Cook laughed. "Your loss, babe. I have no idea, then. What?"

"Means we've got to wait til tomorrow evening for another night of sangria-fueled frivolity."

"A night of what?"

"Partying, Cook. Jesus, read something. Just once, read a fucking book." She rolled her eyes and threw her towel onto a riser, tugging her swim cap back over her bunned blonde hair. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I want to warm down in peace."

She hopped, both legs pressed together, into the water like a plum bob, quickly rising back to the surface and taking long strokes towards the far end. Left on the deck, Cook laughed deeply and sauntered towards the locker room. Despite only truly getting to know the blonde during the training camp, he'd come to respect her immensely: she refused to rise to any of his antagonizing comments or lewd suggestions; she consistently retorted in such colorful metaphors that his mind whirled trying to decipher them; her work ethic rivaled even that of the Fitch twins and Cook had yet to meet someone who could go head-to-head with those two repeatedly in practice, but Naomi certainly came close. Moreover, she'd swum well consistently over the course of the week, placing sixth in the 100 freestyle .

Now, with only the final day of the championship looming in the morning, she represented the best chance for Great Britain to walk away with an individual medal. Cook shook his head, amazed at the turn of events. It certainly seemed the moment to anoint the Fitch twins—or himself, Cook admitted as he showered off. They were all primed for breakout performances after Darrick's rigorous practices and exquisitely detailed fixes to their strokes. Nevertheless, here they were. He slapped the tile angrily. An off-podium finish in his best event; not making finals in two others. That wasn't how he envisioned the next four years going at all, and Cook guessed he wasn't the only one. The jagged gaping hole in the drywall of the ladies' apartment illustrated Katie's spectacularly underwhelming performance five nights previous when she failed to muster better than seventh in either the 100 butterfly or the 200 individual medley; the latter of which she tied her sister for eighth. Things spiraled out of control that night when Emily and Effy both notched fifth place finishes in their best events—the breaststroke and backstroke, respectively—in semifinals, ensuring there was no way they could medal.

Darrick's hastily called team meeting after Freddie embarrassed himself during the 800 freestyle marked the ultimate depths to which they'd fallen just in a handful of days, Cook reflected grimly. He toweled off and trudged down the hall to the ready room. Their coach couldn't even bring himself to shout. The excuse of 'we didn't taper very much' sounded increasingly hollow in Cook's ears and, if the grim expressions on his teammate's faces during that pep talk were any reliable indication, they didn't buy it either. Cook shoved his damp towel, goggles, and swim caps into his navy blue swim bag, jammed ear buds into his ear and headed for the team bus.

Emily climbed onto the bus right behind her sister, fists shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie, her thoughts still between the bulkheads. _That's not entirely true_ , she told herself as her feet shuffled along the carpeted aisle towards a comfortable seat two-thirds of the way into the bus on the driver's side. Emily knew precisely where her thoughts truly drifted: the girl climbing onto the bus presently, eyes scanning across row after row until...

A body fell into the seat next to Emily's and she bit back a groan of annoyance. She twisted to glare at Effy's profile. "D'you mind?"

"Saving the seat for someone?" the taller girl replied cooly. She smirked as Emily shrunk into her hoodie, knees curling up onto the seat as she looked out the window pensively.

As she stared into the window—the contrast between the inky purple outside and the white light of the bus painting a near-approximation of the interior on top of the stirring Barcelona night—Emily's eyes tracked window-Naomi's movements as she haltingly moved along the aisle. The blonde girl worried her lip, looked around anxiously, and slipped into the seat right behind Emily's; the twin's eyes flicked to the left, willing herself to develop x-ray vision to see through the headrest. When that failed to materialize, she glanced back at the window and found blue eyes meeting hers with an accompanying shy smile. The bus started to roll away from the natatorium and the driver turned off the overhead lights on the bus, plunging them all into darkness.

* * *

Twenty silent minutes later, the bus braked along the Avinguda and the team filed off, retrieving their swim bags from the storage compartment in the undercarriage, and making their way through the lobby. In pairs and small groups, they rode the lifts up to their rooms in silence—all except one group, as Cook and Moose bounded through the lobby singing a local drinking song in off-key, poorly pronounced Spanish.

"Stick to Jay-Z/Linkin Park mashups!" Freddie chided with a chuckle, but the joke fell flat on the ears of his teammates.

Emily sighed as she crammed herself into the lift with several older teammates before the boisterous duo could join them. Neither she nor any of her teammates could have predicted the (more or less) somber mood descending upon the entire team with one day left in the Championships. For her part, the lackluster performance during the meet felt not so much an indictment of their training regimen or Darrick's vision for the team, but the victim of a far too resilient distraction: the blonde teammate currently tapping her toe waiting outside their suite door.

"Patiently waiting, I see," Emily said teasingly as she dangled the room keys from her right hand.

"That's me: 'A Portrait of Patience as a Young Woman.'"

Emily shook her head and unlocked the door. She led the way into the common room and dumped her swim bag unceremoniously on the couch. "Just because you're seeded second in the fifty tomorrow doesn't quite entitle you to make James Joyce references."

"And what, may I ask, does it entitle me to?"

The peculiar tone in her voice made Emily freeze, one hand on the flap of her bag and the other squeezing her suits so tightly water dripped onto the carpeted floor. She stood slowly, her feet shuffling 'round to face Naomi. Emily swallowed dryly and raised her eyebrows. "Uh..."

"Christ, if I have to spend another fucking minute trapped in a lift with those two baboons, I'll make sure they can't...what the fuck did I walk into this time?" Katie stormed into the suite, throwing her swim bag into the twins' bedroom before realizing her sister and Naomi were locked in a staring contest.

Emily groaned exasperatedly at her sister's flair for the dramatic (and unerring ability to cut straight to the heart of the matter). "Our esteemed suitemate was just about to tell me what she thinks she's entitled to as the most likely of us to win gold."

Katie snorted, crossing the room towards the shared bathroom. "If the answer's anything other than a fashion makeover, I'm protesting. Vehemently." The door slammed shut behind her.

"Katie, I didn't know you knew such long words!" Naomi retorted.

"Fuck off!" Came the muffled reply; Emily and Naomi simultaneously rolled their eyes.

"Now you're communicating without speaking; cute."

"Fuck, Effy, really?" Naomi turned dramatically towards their final roommate, throwing her hands up in frustration. Effy shrugged, leaning against the door casually. "Is it too much to ask of you to not be an absolute...hi, Coach."

Coach Mercer lingered awkwardly just outside the open door of their suite. He tried to smile. "Just wanted to check in and make sure everyone's ready for tomorrow. Big final day."

"We know, Coach," Emily assented quickly.

"Good. Don't forget; bus leaves at 7." He waved and disappeared back down the hall as Effy walked into the common room; the door slowly closed behind her. Her eyes flitted from Naomi to Emily and back.

"A teammate again, Em? And I thought I was the only one fascinated with fire." She raised her eyebrows at their newest teammate and disappeared into the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind her. Naomi stared pointedly at Emily, all verbal questions unnecessary.

Emily opened her mouth to explain as the toilet flushed. She clamped her lips shut, considered things, and looked towards the ceiling. "Roof?"

Naomi chewed her bottom lip until the ferric taste of blood dribbled onto her tongue. Finally, she shook her head. "As much as I want to, we should get to bed."

"Right," Emily whispered, ducking her chin down to look into the damp heap of swimsuits and towels. "Yeah, we should...get some rest."

"But, Em?"

Nervous mocha eyes looked across the room and found surprisingly resolute sky blues. Naomi nodded towards the bedroom behind her. "If it's any consolation, I always take anything she says with a grain of salt. Learned that lesson a long time ago. G'night."

"Goodnight, Naomi," Emily whispered.

The door to the loo opened and Katie emerged, looking around in surprise. "You're alone." It wasn't a question.

"Shocking, I know." The younger twin brushed past her, tossing over her shoulder, "Just leave your suits on the floor; I'll hang them up and toss the towels in the dryer."

Emily began closing the door when she heard her sister say her name a final time. Peeking her head around the partially shut door, Emily piqued her eyebrows. Katie shrugged. "Just...don't stay up too late moping?"

Confused, Emily pushed open the door again. "What're you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about, bitch!" Katie leaned forward, her voice a hiss. "We've all got the relay tomorrow and Naomi's got the 50. Last thing she needs is to come out here and see you thinking too hard. Be patient and who knows? Maybe with a little more sangria she'll be the one kissing you."

The teen spun on her heel and stalked into the bedroom. Emily closed the door to the loo, her hand shaking violently and head lolling back and forth as she collapsed against the wooden door. Her mind scrambled putting together all the pieces the evening provided; nevertheless, try as she might, Emily could not put together a coherent picture. But one unmistakable fact coalesced as she went through her nightly routine: her sister witnessed the kiss she'd stolen from Naomi their first night in Barcelona. _And kept schtum_. The concept of privacy and not airing her sister's every romantic tryst rarely formed coherently in Katie's mind; Emily knew _that_ from experience. Her older sister had hardly been subtle about Emily's last team crush.

Splashing water on her face, Emily leaned on the counter and looked at herself in the mirror. Who was she trying to deceive? With Katie things were never simple or straightforward. "She's waiting for the opportune moment," Emily stated a bit too loudly.

"Yeah, well, this'd be an opportune moment for you to be done so's I can brush and go to bed?"

Emily gasped and hastily dried her face with a hand towel. Opening the door, Emily looked up into Naomi's smirk. "Sorry; all yours. I thought I was the only one up."

"Nah, I think Effy's just lying on her bed trying to hear at ultrasonic levels; she never actually sleeps."

They traded places; the brunette's cheeks tinting pink with the extended time so close to Naomi. Finally, Emily backed towards her bedroom as Naomi slowly closed the door. "See you in the morning, Naoms."

Shivering, the blonde's eyes drooped closed and popped back open. "You too. And we _will_ talk tomorrow night."

Emily swallowed as Naomi shut the door emphatically ending their conversation. "Right. No pressure."


	13. I See the Place That We Belong Together

**A/N:** I don't own 'Skins.' All mistakes are mine; I'm rushing the editing to get this up. Proper note to follow at the end.

* * *

The exterior of the Palau Sant Jordi—one of the last remaining serviceable venues from the 1992 Olympic Games—blended into a pastel orange hue as the sun set into the Catalan mountain ranges west of Barcelona. Inside the aquatic center, on the other hand, blues dominated the palette: the restless waters of the pool, the sparse empty places in the bleachers, the swimsuits and warm-up jackets on the medal podium as Americans, Frenchmen, and Russian women paraded across their tiers. Renewed frustration burned within Emily as she stood just off to the side and watched her rivals descend to the pool deck after being recognized for their achievements in the 50 meter breaststroke earlier in the evening, but she knew her anger at herself was grossly misplaced: despite not medaling as she'd hoped, her fourth place finish certainly granted her some positive momentum to build off for future meets, at least in individual events.

More pressing on her mind, however, was the night's final event: the 4x100 medley relay. Insofar as Emily's counting the World Championships a success went, that calculus revolved around the meet's final race. Semifinals that morning went smoothly, but she knew most of that owed to them knowing their seed time put them well ahead of the scrum fighting for the last spot in finals; sure enough their conservative starts and consistent swims had them seeded fifth. Emily wiped the corner of her towel across her face and squished across the pool deck in flip flops, their smacking echoing behind her. Replays of last summer's debacle in London continued playing on repeat; they wouldn't let her focus properly.

But Emily knew that diversion would soon be banished from her thoughts. She cast a hopeful gaze towards the starting blocks, but none of the upcoming swimmers stood visible in the entryway behind the blocks. Emily hurried through the locker room, racing to make it upstairs to the bleachers for the next event. Gasping for air, she collapsed onto one of the few empty places of metallic blue bleacher left unclaimed in the competitors section, startling JJ.

"Emily! Do you need a drink of water? You seem exhausted, even for someone who just raced thirteen minutes ago."

"I'm good, Jay. Thanks; just wanted to make sure I got to watch Naomi."

The team manager scratched his curly hair and flipped the page of his heat sheet. "Yes, the 50 freestyle is next. She's only a tenth behind the top seed."

"Anything can happen in a 50, though," Emily bemoaned, worrying her lip. Somebody kicked the small of her back from the row above. "Ow!"

"No negative thoughts, bitch."

"And what did you do when you didn't have me here for footie practice, sister dearest?"

Katie shrugged. "I used JJ."

Emily glanced at the teen who turned red and winced. She glared at her twin before turning back to the pool. "If that bruises and affects the relay later..."

"Right, and _I'm_ the dramatic one." Her twin sister rolled her eyes and gestured to Emily's damp brown hair while looking at Effy. "Can you believe this?"

Effy looked at Katie for a beat, reached out her arm, and slowly turned Katie's head to look at the pool. "Just cheer, Katherine."

The finalists for the last individual female race emerged one after the other, dispersing to their assigned lanes with a wave up at the crowd as the announcer intoned each of their names and country of origin, starting with lane one.

"...in lane 5, from Great Britain, Naomi Campbell!"

The cluster surrounding Emily rose as one and roared their support as a smattering of sniggers swept through some of the other swimmers and fans sitting nearby. Emily's blood boiled, but her teammate beat her to the punch.

"Oy, mate. Yeah, you over there!" Cook leaned menacingly towards a stunned-looking American. "I hear you having a laugh at my friend's expense and I'll shove yer head so far up your arse that—"

"You can't hear what he's going to say next! Sorry 'bout him," interrupted Freddie, pulling Cook back into his seat. He minutely shook his head at his best friend before turning back to the ashen-colored American. "But if you do mock her again, we will fucking kill you, mate."

Emily smirked at the boys' antics, watching as Naomi dutifully ignored everything else in the center, snapping her arms across her chest and pressing one goggle against an eye socket, then the other. The swimmers stepped onto the blocks in unison and the crowd fell silent.

"C'mon, Naoms..."

 _BEEP._

Naomi exploded off the block, a pale, Speedo-clad panther uncoiling with the starting gun (or at least the electronic, twenty-first century equivalent). Her shoulders squeezed her ears; one hand on top of the other in a perfect streamline, legs snapping up into an arrow as her fingertips touched the cool water of lane five. Her wrists followed, then elbows, the crown of her pure white swim cap with a Union Jack emblazoned on either side above the letters 'N. CAMPBELL.' As her head pierced the surface, the rest of her body followed. The instant her feet were underwater, they began pumping in a rapid dolphin kick as her trajectory leveled out and she rose back towards the surface. Her right arm pulled back along her body, timed just so...

Campbell broke out with a long, aggressive set of strokes, much faster in pace than her usual tempo. Her flutter kicking replaced the dolphin kicks as she churned down the pool, head down, elongated strokes aided by her long wingspan. From his position right at the edge of the stands, Darrick pressed a finger into one ear as he whistled sharply, urging his swimmer onward; the rest of the team erupted in overlapping cheers. The coach smiled ruefully at how effortless her sprinting looked in comparison to the much quicker turnover of the other swimmers. Coach Mercer insisted the best swimmers had the most outstanding work ethic and spent themselves the most in practice; nevertheless, he could not deny natural ability when it was so clearly on display in the center of the pool.

The heat of eight women neared the final set of flags, a group of five pulling just ahead of those on the outside lanes. Still, Naomi kept her head in line with the rest of her body, eyes searing into the black painted line three meters below her body as her shoulders and hips rotated along the long axis of her core. Bubbles snorted out of her nose every couple strokes as she fought the urge to breathe this close to the end of the race.

 _Cross...almost there...two more, no one, no...ow! Wall._

Naomi jammed her fingers into the wall awkwardly; her final stroke didn't quite allow her to extend as far as she wanted. Gasping for air, she rolled over to look up at the scoreboard, head resting in the gap of the gutter above the timing board. She found her name...and the digital pieces configured into a choppy number 3. _Third...fucking bronze. Holy shit, I got fucking bronze!_ She exhaled, took a deep inhalation, and bobbed underwater as she peeled off the outer of her two swim caps. Returning to the surface, she leaned over the lane line to hug the Dutch girl who won from lane four. Sliding over the lane line like a seal, Naomi sculled over to lane three to congratulate the Aussie who took home silver before waving up at an adoring cheering section whistling and waving small flags in her direction. Smiling wearily, Naomi looked up to find Emily's gaze in particular burning into her polarized goggles. She gratefully realized her entire body was burning red from deprivation of oxygen and the exertions of the race; Naomi exited on the side of the pool and hurried over to get a warm down in before the relay final.

* * *

"She got bronze. Bronze!"

"Yeah, we watched it, Em. Stop repeating it," complained Katie as they tugged on their suits get make them more comfortable while standing before mirrors in the locker room. The older twin caught the awestruck gleam in her sister's eyes and paused. She watched her reflection put a hand on Emily's shoulder. "Look, I'm just as happy one of us medaled, but we need to stay focused, yeah? Kill this relay."

"Right." Emily took a deep breath. "You're right. She'll be insufferable if she's the only one who wins a medal."

"That'll make two of us," groused Katie under her breath, tucking several stray hairs up under her swim cap.

"What?"

"Nothing. Let's go get a 200 in before the boys final kicks off."

The twins stepped onto the pool deck and shuffled expeditiously over to the auxiliary pool, dropping one after the other into the roiling waters between other women and men recuperating from an event or getting ready for the relay. Emily gritted her teeth, slowly making her way back and forth right on the toes of her twin, every third or fourth stroke grazing Katie's foot due to the cramped space available in the lanes. The attempt at loosening their muscles instead turned into an exercise in patience as they navigated the salmon runs of the warm down pool.

After two and a half frustrating minutes, the twins hauled themselves onto the pool deck, hastily drying off and walking into the ready room just behind the starting blocks. Effy leaned against one wall, a sandaled foot pressed up to the wall and both hands buried in the deep pockets of her parka. The tell-tale white cords of earbuds trailed down along the front of her coat and disappeared next to her right hand; her head bobbed along, eyes squeezed shut.

"Ten quid says 'Midnight City,'" whispered Emily as they approached.

"No fucking way; 'Wetsuit.'"

"You two are mad. She only listens to house music before relays," interrupted a voice from over their shoulders. The twins looked back in surprise at Naomi, who shrugged. "I finished cooling down right after you guys did, but it's so loud out there that I couldn't get your attention. They pushed the medal ceremony for the fifty to the end; thank Christ."

The trio approached the final member of their relay who, without opening an eye casually tugged an earbud from one ear. "Or I could just be standing silently in a corner eavesdropping on all your conversations. I'll take that thirty quid in drinks tonight."

"Fuck's sake," complained Katie.

Effy smirked and returned the bud to her ear. A moment later the unmistakable electronic music of Disclosure blasted outward, audible to all three teens.

"She's going to go deaf she keeps listening to music at that rate," Emily said in an even voice, confident Effy couldn't hear her, but the thin brunette smirked in her direction and pushed off the wall to begin stretching.

"Two minutes, ladies," called a volunteer from the front of the room. Katie rolled her eyes and began hopping up and down in place, eyes fixated upon an invisible point in the distance as she visualized the upcoming race. Naomi stretched her neck, tugging it towards one shoulder then the other. Emily fiddled with the zipper on her jacket, nibbling her bottom lip in anticipation.

"Hey." The younger Fitch looked up, startled, to find Naomi looking at her, head craned all the way to her left. "No need for that."

Blushing furiously, Emily looked away, pretending to stretch by reaching down to touch her toes and avoid making eye contact with Naomi—or Effy, or her sister for that matter—so that she could refocus on the upcoming race. _At least she didn't 'Em' you._

"The next event: the women's 4x100 medley relay." The natatorium announcer's voice echoed faintly through the ready room and each cluster of four women gathered together after spreading out around the room. Emily slipped into line between Katie and Effy as each team disappeared onto the pool deck for their introduction, lane one exiting first. The event favorites disappeared, and sooner than Emily prefered, the four teens (easily the youngest average age of any relay at the Worlds) were motioned forward by the volunteer.

"Good luck, ladies."

"Thanks," Emily replied softly; the other three stared imperviously.

"In lane six, Great Britain." Effy led the way onto the pool deck, pausing so that all four of them could stand together for the audience's edification before proceeding to their lane. Unlike the previous six lanes, however, Effy, Emily, Katie, and Naomi resolved not to smile or wave to the throngs of fans above; they stood still momentarily and stalked confidently to their lane without looking up.

"Fook me, that was fierce," whispered Cook. Freddie nodded as he whistled in support for them amid the cheering.

The girls hurriedly shrugged off windbreakers or parkas and draped them across chairs behind each lane; heartbeats accelerated as the kicked off sandals and made final adjustments to swim caps and goggles. The shrill whistle inviting backstrokers into the water pierced the Palau; Katie slapped the sides of her head, moved into a crouch. Emily and Naomi crouched next to her, linking pinkies behind the starting block. Effy bobbed back to the surface in their lane, exhaling and stretching her neck left and right as she situated her feet just millimeters beneath the surface of the water, coiling herself tightly for the start.

"Go get 'em, Ef," Naomi offered quietly.

"Take your marks..."

Effy and the other seven girls in the pool gripped the handles on the underside of the blocks and pulled themselves up and nearly out of the pool, tensing for release by the—

 _BEEP_

"GO!" The twins and Naomi leaped into the air, pinkies still linked with arms extended up into the air. They landed in unison and began yelling for Effy to kick, even as she remained underwater undulating her hips in a graceful dolphin kick.

The lithe brunette regained the surface just inside the fifteen meter mark, her preternaturally smooth strokes carrying her backwards down the pool; a compact flip turn and Effy was surging back towards Emily. The younger Fitch twin exhaled and climbed up onto the block.

 _Don't leave early; don't fuck this up; don't leave early; don't..._

"Hey, Ems..." Emily held her breath as Naomi's even-timbred voice cut through the din of cheering. Her hands formed a triangle as she followed Effy under the flags. Naomi finished her thought just as Emily was about to make her start: "Just swim."

A bolt of confidence shocked her into action. Emily swung her arms and, perfectly coinciding with Effy's arrival, hurled herself into the air with a smile...

* * *

"Receiving the bronze medal, with a time of 24.71: Naomi Campbell!"

"Yeah, Naoms!" Emily shouted deliriously, hands cupped around her mouth from halfway down the pool deck as her teammate ascended the podium to receive her medal from the fifty freestyle. On her right, Katie cheered and clapped politely; Effy made an effort to press her hands together twice before deciding the effort to keep her hands raised at all was too much and letting them fall back to her sides. Emily caught the proud smirk as it flitted across her features; it would be enough. Naomi stood solemnly as the gold medalist's anthem played moments later.

The three medalists gathered on the highest tier for several more exhausted-smile pictures before dispersing. Naomi stepped away and immediately sought out her teammates; Emily tried to wave to her, but quickly realized the futility. She instead opted to lean out over the pool, waving her down indirectly, but at Naomi's quick eye roll, she knew the blonde could manage navigating to them based on Emily's position down the pool. After several moments, Naomi emerged from the crowd of coaches and swimmers preparing to be recognized during the relay medal ceremonies.

"Congratulations, bitch. Way to win the only medal for our entire fucking country."

"Shove it, Katie," Naomi said good-naturedly with a sidelong glance at Emily. "It's not an Olympic bronze. I hear those are even more valuable."

"Yeah, well, same metal; same bitter taste of almost being remembered."

"Amen."

"So, are we celebrating this or not?" Effy interrupted the self-deprecating bickering. Naomi and Katie turned to her. "Her bronze, our sub-4?"

Emily nodded vigorously. "I will; come on, Ef." She winked at Naomi when she'd blocked Katie from being able to see the gesture. "Help me get ready to find someone willing to show me a good time in Barcelona."

Emily brushed lightly past Effy and disappeared into the locker room. Naomi followed her steps, enraptured, only to realize it brought her stare-to-stare with Effy's piercing gaze. The blue-eyed brunette smirked and turned to follow Emily's lead. "As you wish, Ems."

* * *

The bus twittered pleasantly as the door hissed closed and the pneumatics raised it back to its driving height. Darrick steadied himself between the seats, looking back at the swimmers arrayed in ones and twos along both sides of the aisle.

"Now, I know most of y'all are gonna celebrate Worlds being over tonight, and that's fine. But let's keep the property damage—Cook—"

"Oi, the fuck did I do, Darrick, mate?" A roar of laughter nearly drowned out Cook's protests.

"—and the unexpected return of other team's swimmers to our rooms—also, ahem, Cook—to a minimum."

"There's more people on this here bus who like a good time than jus' tha Cookie Monster, am I right?" A smattering of cheers answered him in the affirmative.

"I'm going to get so...responsibly intoxicated," Katie provided after a sharp look from their coach. "I'm with you, Cook."

"Wooop! D-man, you're welcome too!"

The coach laughed, tearing up and doubling over as he shook his head. "I'll be doing nothin' like that, James. You enjoy your night in Barcelona without coaches looking over your shoulder. But, the rest of you, look over his shoulder for us?"

"In public only!" JJ clarified before Cook could aim a come-on at some of the young women in the back of the bus.

"Aw, c'mon, Jenkins! They knew that's what he meant."

"It's not them he's worried about," retorted Freddie before slipping his ear bud back into place.

* * *

Two hours later, Emily pushed open the creaky door to the apartment's rooftop with her back and stepped over a pipe as she exited into the Barcelona night. A gentle breeze laced with the salty smell of the Mediterranean several blocks away drifted over the rooftop, whisping hair across her face. Both hands full, Emily spat at it, trying to get it out of her mouth as she turned and carefully walked across the mosaiced stone towards a glass-and-iron table near the edge of the building. Groaning in frustration at her lack of success, she carefully squatted to place both brimming pitchers of sangria down on the table. Hands freed, she removed a stack of plastic cups out from under her arm.

"There." She smiled triumphantly. "And not a drop spilled."

"Impressive," admitted Effy, slouching in a chair on the opposite side of the table, feet resting on the brick rampart; she did not, however, sound very impressed. An already-topped off glass of something clear and trimmed with a single slice of lime dangled from her fingertips.

From her seat—perfectly postured—Naomi clapped slowly. After a glare from Emily, she stopped, leaning forward to pluck a plastic cup from the teetering stack. As she began pouring herself a glass of sangria, she nodded towards the other pitcher. "Go on, then."

Emily scanned the rest of the roof, frowning. "Where's Katie?"

"Downstairs. Her exact words—yelled through the door to the loo—'If you think I'm going to spend my last night in Barca getting pissed on a roof watching my sister and Naomi exchange glances all night, you're mad.'"

Fully aware of the irony, Emily and Naomi locked eyes...and immediately burst out laughing in unison as Naomi winked theatrically. The twin poured herself a glass of sangria and set about fishing slices of orange out of the pitcher to drop in her glass.

"And you were willing to risk sharing the same roof space as us, Ef?"

Effy swung her feet down from the ledge; downed half her drink (straight vodka? Gin? Emily couldn't make out which) and shook her head. A gleaming case of fags materialized in her other hand along with a lighter. "Not a chance. Just killing time before my post-Championships fag."

"Darrick'll murder you if he finds out you've been smoking," Emily warned, lips tingling from a sip of sangria.

Effy waggled her drink. "That's what this and a night out with Katie is for."

The backstroker glided across the roof, disappearing around a corner near the stairs leaving Naomi and Emily seated by themselves with two near-full sangria pitchers. Emily eyed the two skeptically.

"Guess we're not going anywhere for a while."

The blonde quirked an eyebrow. "That eager to be rid of me?"

Her companion decided it was time to finish her first glass. As Emily refilled her flimsy plastic cup with blood red juice, she smirked. "Hardly."

The first pitcher did not last long. Emily's hand wavered as she killed the sangria, the last drops plunking into Naomi's cup as they splashed against a slice of lime. The obvious intoxication descended into a fit of giggles. Triumphant, Emily turned the pitcher over, intending on showing just how much they'd successfully drunk thus far—with a shriek, she righted the pitcher as the first pieces of fruit plummeted towards the tiles at their feet. As she sheepishly put the pitcher back on the table, Emily huffed.

"It's not that funny!"

Unable to speak and joyful tears rolling down her cheeks, Naomi only nodded fiercely. After a gasp or three, she finally said, "Is too!"

A piece of orange hit her shoulder; silence followed for a beat as her shocked gaze fixated on Emily's playfully challenging smirk. Waiting for a beat, Naomi saw the smirk falter.

She lunged for Emily; the smaller girl made a cry a of surprise and bolted out of her chair—only to find herself trapped against the ramparts of the historic building. Naomi stood slowly, grinning triumphantly as Emily backed up against the concrete, her shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Nowhere to go, Fitch."

"Should I be afraid, Campbell?"

Naomi cleared the table, stepping into Emily's personal space. Live music from buskers on the Avinguda tickled their ears; Emily licked her lips. The pleasant, fruity buzz of sangria set in even more with the sudden movement after relaxing in their seats for so long. Naomi took another step, the fabric of her shirt rustling against Emily's in the breeze.

The taller teen shook her head as her hand rose to cup Emily's cheek. "Not in the slightest."

Instinctively, Emily knew to expect the kiss. But the synapses carrying that knowledge from the garnacha-and-brandy tinged corners of her brain to her sangria-sweetened lips took two pounding heartbeats to deliver the message. When they finally did, she pressed back confidently, stepping away from the ledge and directly into Naomi, one arm wrapping around the blonde's waist as her right hand gripped Naomi's neck to pull her head down further. Their lips slid across each other's, a delicious battle that featured repeated attempts to withdraw and engage at a slightly different angle.

Naomi's hand drifted of its own accord into Emily's hair; an insistent tug at the strands it found there elicited a groan and Emily pressing even more aggressively against her teammate—an advance that caused Naomi to stumble and fling her hand out behind her to steady herself against the table. Instead, it splashed into the still-nearly full pitcher of sangria.

"Shit!" Naomi pulled away with a shocked expression, withdrawing her purple-tinged hand in disbelief. Emily, her eyes hewing closer to dark cocoa than milk chocolate, rubbed the back of her hand against her mouth in an ineffective stifling of laughter. Naomi turned her bewildered expression to the shorter girl...and promptly lost herself in a fit of giggles as well. "Graceful, that."

"Mmm, extremely graceful. You, sit right there; I'll go grab a towel."

A handful of minutes later—her heartbeat still racing (though Emily knew it had far less to do with running down and back up three flights of stairs than it did their kiss)—Emily returned with a damp hand towel. Naomi thanked her and wiped down her sangria-stained forearm. She arched a brow as Emily dragged a chair around the table until it was situated right next to Naomi's with a perfect view out over the azures, violets, and pinpricks of fluorescent yellow that colored the Barcelona night.

Naomi and Emily sat in comfortable, silent companionship as Naomi finished cleaning up after her sangria faux pas. Dropping the towel on the table, Naomi hesitated before pouring them each another glass. "You still want some?"

"Turn down Naomi-infused sangria? Never," Emily retorted with a wink. Naomi laughed lightly and passed over a full plastic cup; they sipped in unison.

"So..."

"Yes, Naoms?"

Naomi sighed with a smile, not bothering to hide the reaction to Emily's nickname. She turned to appraise Emily's face in the dark. "You've got to not call me that before a race, okay?"

"Oh? Why's that?"

Naomi waved her glass of sangria vaguely through the air. "Oh...you know. Distractions, competitive disadvantage...that sort of thing."

"Not very convincing...Naoms."

Naomi put a hand on Emily's thigh just below the hem of her shorts, willing herself to ignore the shiver she felt, turning a stern look at her teammate. "I'm serious, Ems."

Emily put a hand on top of Naomi's. "I'll do my best, but only if you reciprocate. I almost left early when you called me that tonight."

" _Really_?"

Emily took a sip of sangria, nodding her head diagonally in assent. "It's a weak point."

"And sangria is like truth serum. Both duly noted." They laughed and, as if in defiance of the revelation, took another drink. Naomi swallowed and made a small grunt. "Oh, and what was Effy talking about last night? You're not some sort of teammate-preying vampire are you?" Naomi eyed their glasses of sangria suspiciously.

Her companion laughed heartily, extending a hand to Naomi's shoulder to steady herself. Emily shook her head emphatically. "I'm not a vampire!"

"Well, I'm glad we got that sorted."

Emily seemed to sober for a moment. "But I did make the mistake of trying to date a teammate in the past, that part is true."

"So, you think it's always a mistake, then?" Naomi traced the rim of her cup, unsure of how to process Emily's comment in the context of the searing kiss earlier in the night.

"No, Naoms, I didn't mean...not like that. Shit." Emily worried her lip, trying to walk back her generalization regarding relationships with teammates. In spite of her protest, Naomi sighed and stood up, stumbling over to the edge of the rooftop and gazing across the buildings. Emily heaved herself up and, after downing half her cup, shuffled over to lean on the brick-and-mortar. Out of the corner of her eye, Emily studied Naomi's hand as it played the brick like a keyboard; clearly, her discomfort persisted.

"What did you mean, then, Emily?" Naomi stilled her fingers, balling them into a fist. "'Cause I think that before this—whatever it is—becomes more than bloody amazing sangria kisses, you need to explain."

Emily nodded. "You're right, it's just...you spend so much time trying to forget and block it out, you know?"

Naomi pursed her lips. "Mmm, no I don't. Never dated a teammate before. Shagged a couple silly, but it was always made clear there'd be no...unnecessary complications."

"And that's what you want now? We're pissed on sangria, in this amazing city, you've got a medal. Now you get a shag?"

When Naomi spoke, the steel in her voice made Emily's neck crawl. "Emily Fitch, if you ever accuse me of just trying to get in your pants for my own instant gratification again, we'll never speak again, do you understand?"

Emily swallowed, downing the rest of her sangria to fight a swell of pained emotions from overspilling. She nodded. "Completely."

"Good. I'd think it obvious from my actions since we became teammates that's hardly my goal. Now, if you're done accusing me of just trying to get in your knickers, tell me about this teammate that so ruined your faith in committed relationships between teammates."

"Fine." Emily looked down into her empty cup, frowning. "But I'll need more sangria first."

Naomi squinted conspiratorially. "I think I can help you there. Cup please."

The petite brunette handed it over with a shy smile. "Thanks." As Naomi returned to their table and refilled their cups, Emily tapped the ledge in thought. "Do you mean to say that you're _not_ trying to shag me?"

The blonde missed her cup, spilling sangria across the table in surprise at the brash question. Recovering, Naomi finished filling the glasses and returned to Emily's side. She handed over the cup and made a show of toasting her. "Don't try and change the subject."

Emily smirked. "Guilty." After a sip, however, she set her purple-stained lips and exhaled through her nose. "First things first, yeah?

"It was two summers ago, before the last Worlds in Shanghai. Well, and in Shanghai too, honestly, as she was still on the team then, and we had our falling out mid-meet. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We'd been on the Bath club team together for years; she a couple years older, me not quite understanding why I always wanted to follow her around at meets like a lost puppy. I'd always make an effort to cheer at the end of her lane no matter what and congratulate her afterwards. I finally realized I fancied her, but obviously I didn't think she felt the same way; I knew Katie'd ruin me if she knew I was pining after her, and well, you know how much help Effy can be. Great listener, Effy; terrible dispenser of advice."

"Couldn't've said it better myself," agreed Naomi. "So, unrequited love?"

"Until about six weeks before Worlds. It was the end of a particularly brutal practice and Katie hurried out to meet Mum. I thought I was showering alone...and then she was there." Emily shook her head. "I barely made it out to the car in a reasonable time to not raise suspicions, but the next month and a half of that summer should've been the final push to place well in Shanghai and instead she and I were doing all we could to slip out of practice early and shag. I fell hard, Naoms. An older girl, one I'd fancied for over a year—ever since I knew...and now I had her. It never occurred to me that she didn't completely reciprocate my feelings."

"What happened in China, then?"

"Disaster. About halfway through the meet, right after I'd placed fourth in the 100 breast actually—I'll never forget it cause I had a personal best and qual'ed for the Olympics—Effy pulls me aside and tells me Katie needed me in the team prep room; that it's an emergency."

"Katie wasn't even there, was she?"

Emily took a steeling drink of sangria and shook her head. "But _she_ was. Snogging Cook like JJ wasn't sitting a metre away. I lost it. Sobbing, screaming at Cook, who looked more bewildered than I've ever seen him since. Nobody knew, Naoms; we hid it so well. Soon as he had it sorted and tried to make a joke (that only led to more tears), he literally picked her up, carried her out of the room, and slammed the door in her face." Emily swiped an angry hand across her cheek, smearing salty tears.

After a sniffle, she continued. "She scratched the rest of her events; I didn't even make finals in the 200 breast or in the 200 IM despite being seeded top ten in both, and our coach didn't bother to swim me in the relay, opting for the alternate instead. Mum and Da flew all the way to Shanghai to watch us. They were furious, especially Jenna. Katie didn't talk to me for a week."

They fell silent, each nursing their sangria. Naomi knew empty platitudes wouldn't help at all, so she kept quiet for the moment. Luckily, Emily broke the silence with a bitter laugh. "If it hadn't been for Effy, I'd never've been the wiser. She was shagging a guy (not Cook) from Plymouth Leander the whole time. It's the only time in my life I didn't mind Effy inexplicably knowing all of my shit, you know?"

Naomi laughed in spite of herself at that concession. "I can't say I've ever been in a similar position, but I'll admit I always prefer to be in Ef's good graces. Emily, I know it probably sounds hollow, but—"

"If you say you're sorry, I'll dump the rest of the pitcher on your head."

With feigned shock, Naomi put her hand to her breast. "Emily Fitch! You wouldn't!" The brunette's lips twitched into an approximation of a smile. For Naomi, it was a victory. She turned to face her completely and hugged Emily tightly. An initial urge to resist froze Emily, but after a moment, her shoulders relaxed and she snaked her arms around Naomi's waist, burrowing her head into Naomi's shoulder.

"I feel like utter shit for ruining your night with this. You won a fucking bronze medal and here I am crying over spilt milk."

"That I asked you to spill," Naomi reminded her softly. She loosened her grip enough to look down at Emily's tear-brimmed eyes; one thumb rose to lightly brush tears away. "Hey. I know how you can salvage the night for me."

"Anything?"

Naomi smirked and waggled her eyebrows. "Really?!"

"Ugh, Cook's been a bad influence on you."

They laughed in unison until Emily hiccuped softly. Naomi rolled her eyes. "No not really. What do you say we just sit here and finish off this sangria? I can't think of a better way to commemorate my historic swim than basking in Barcelona with a beautiful Fitch."

"'Your historic swim.' Full of yourself much, Naoms?"

The blonde shook her head ruefully and settled into her chair. She sipped sangria. "Only around you, Fitch. Only around you."

Emily refilled her cup and scooted her wrought-iron chair closer to Naomi's. At some point, she realized their hands were intertwined. The sight in the city light-spackled darkness swelled her heart. Nevertheless, the warm feeling dissipated as a nagging question pressed to the fore of her thoughts.

"Wait, you knew Effy when we were younger. Were you...did you swim with her at Leander?"

"Effy and I is a story for another time, Ems, especially after everything tonight, don't you think."

The Fitch twin blushed, embarrassed at bringing it up in the first place. "Right, yeah, no, yeah; you're right."

Naomi's head rolled lazily along the back of her chair. "But, just so we're clear: there's no romantic history there, alright? None." She crinkled her nose. "Not that that's ever a prerequisite for drama when Elizabeth is involved. As for _this_ history..."

Naomi hoisted their joined hands pointedly. "I have a feeling there's still a lot to be written, don't you?"

Emily smiled tentatively, staring at Naomi's uncharacteristically open expression. The blonde blushed, turning away finally to stare out at the bustling metropolis around them. Emily did the same, squeezing Naomi's hand as she did. "Yeah. Loads."

 **A/N** : As I said, proper note to follow. Well? I can only apologize profusely for the long delay in writing this after taking the GRE at the beginning of April. I want to make clear I am not abandoning this. I can't wait to hear whatever feedback you decide to leave (if you feel it's warranted), and I promise to respond to any and all of it! I'd be remiss if I didn't give a shout out to **mswitsend** , **marsupial** , and **fragrantlily** who are all writing amazing pieces on here RIGHT NOW. Keep up the great work; it's huge incentive to write. And to **Irma**...your checking in to make sure I was still alive made me laugh so hard. Have a great weekend; a tip of my cap to those who made the ultimate sacrifice so that we could do crazy things like write fanfics and debate the merits of Roundview College with impunity. Cheers!


	14. I Want a Ticket to the Soirée

**A/N:** I reckon this is a quick enough update to keep the wolves at bay-I know it's a little bit shorter than the last chapter, but I kind of saw the previous chapter as the end of Act I more or less. Naturally, that makes this the beginning of the ever-important Act II, which chronologically will last the longest (I mean, we do have another 3 years to go until Rio, guys), and as the transition to the next part of this tale, its function is necessary...oh, what am I doing?! You just want to read, right?!

I don't own 'Skins.'

* * *

 _Break it down._

 _You know, I used to dream about this when I was a little boy_

The lock jangled as Katie entered the common area of their suite.

 _I never thought it would end up this way..._

Immediately picking up the melody, she emphatically sang, " _Drums_ ," and joined the in-progress dance party. As the ending entreaties of the song continued, the girls sang along passionately as they cavorted around the dorm: Zelda doing some sort of impressive hip-hop dance behind the couch, insinuating a background in dance during her youth; Effy standing on said piece of furniture bobbing and swaying perfectly in sync with the playful keyboard notes and funky drum loop; Naomi intensely focusing on getting every word of the lyrics right as she bounced around the chairs opposite the sofa; and Katie's twin sister in the corner armchair, laptop ignored, hands in the air as she bopped back and forth to the beat.

The Justin Timberlake song faded out and the room caught its collective breath between tracks. Katie chuckled. "Christ, that song is so _old_!"

"Is it kind of depressing it charted only ten years ago?" Naomi asked.

"Kind of, yeah."

As if to underscore that ten years, in the grand sweep of time, was not much of an interval, the next song in the mix began to play: an iconic series of chords picked on a guitar nearly drowned out by Katie's abbreviated scream. The scream transitioned into a slightly off-key yet triumphant crowing that " _A scrub is a guy that thinks he's fly..."_

Nestled in her chair, Emily hummed along for most of the first verse before hooking up a pair of earbuds to her computer and getting lost in something slower in tempo as she studied. A large textbook awkwardly pressed into her leg from where it slid off her lap during her seated dancing, eliciting a wince. She shifted in the seat, heaving the heavy book over the wide armrest and dropping it against the wall. She looked back up and screamed, reflexively jolting in surprise at finding Naomi very much in her personal bubble, singing.

" _No, I don't want no scrub..."_

Emily punched Naomi's shoulder weakly, the frustration borne of her antics diminished by a ripple of laughter. "Fuck off, Naoms."

The blonde, fighting through her own laughter, kept leaning in closer until her nose nearly brushed Emily's. "It's a Friday afternoon, post-practice and you're trying to study. Put the book down, _Ems_ , and have some fun. We have guests, for fuck's sake."

Emily tilted her head and grazed Naomi's lips with hers. Her voice rose just enough to carry over an instrumental break in the song. "Play dirty with the nicknames, I see. I'd hardly call Zelda a guest."

"Am too!" The younger swimmer crossed her arm indignantly as Naomi stood and allowed her to glower at the brunette. "I'm on a uni visit and _you're_ supposed to be convincing me this is where I should take classes while training. What am I supposed to think when my first impression is that students have to study on Friday nights instead of going out? By this time last Friday at Bristol I was already three tequila shots deep."

The younger of the Fitch twins slammed the screen of her laptop shut. TLC continued blasting out of a small speaker on the kitchen counter to one side of the room. "You're right; you're absolutely right. I'm sure Kieran and Darrick would be thrilled to know one of Britain's most promising swimmers is basing her uni decisions on how many tequila shots she can do at each school before eight on a Friday night."

Naomi swiped a beer from the end table next to Emily's chair and tipped it to her lips. She wagged a condescending finger from the same handing clutching the bottle. "You know Kieran wouldn't take issue with her decision-making process."

Exasperated with the blonde's response, Emily snatched the textbook from the floor and—punctuating each word with a quick smack to Naomi's leg—expressed her frustration. "Do. Not. Encourage. Her. Act. Like. An Adult...Ish."

"-ish?" Naomi said, rubbing a freshly sore spot on her leg.

"We're supposed to be the mature ones, Naomi."

Effy snorted as she collapsed on the couch and took a drink of her own. The derisive noise drew a scowl from Emily and a triumphant exclamation from both Naomi and Zelda. The brunette leaned forward from her chair. "Effy, you don't even go here!"

The slender backstroker shrugged. "Let's just have some fun, yeah?"

Naomi took a pull on her beer and offered the bottle to Emily with an arched eyebrow. Sighing, resigned,Emily took the proffered alcohol and downed a long pull with a wince. "Right, so where're we headed first?"

* * *

Emily couldn't argue with her sister's choice for their first stop of the evening: one of their favored bars where the two bartenders waved amicably and the one hostess (between bored intervals picking at her nails) kicked a group of students out of a back corner booth the Fitches—namely Katie—insisted belonged to them after nine on Friday nights. Accordingly, they appropriated the booth and began ferrying rounds to and from the bar.

Further, she struggled to find fault with the bar Effy led them to after an hour and a half; that she didn't know it existed, yet Effy did though she rarely set foot in Bath, did not surprise her in the slightest. The girls trailed single-file after Effy through a grime-stained brown door and up a narrow set of stairs. A sprawling chalkboard dominated the wall behind the bar; alcoholic beverages available grouped in various colors and legibility across the black surface. The claustrophobic dive, lit only by a trio of bulbs dangling from the ceiling and seeming to sway with the bass line of the music, pushed capacity. Despite the massive crowd, however, Emily found herself smiling at the playlist pulsing out of invisible speakers. Effy reappeared with drinks for all of them (that she managed to pull off such an audacious balancing act with this many people around startled the twins more than anything else) and before long the combination of vodka sodas—considerably more of the former than the latter—had Emily sashaying her hips and winding her hands up into the inky air.

A hand rested on her hip. "It should be impossible to dance that smoothly with so many wankers crammed in such a small space," a voice shout-whispered into her ear.

Emily grinned, buzzed, and wound her free hand back around Naomi's neck. She angled her neck to tickle the blonde's ear with her response. "So what you're doing is protecting me from the slobbering hordes?"

"In part," Naomi teased, tugging Emily closer and matching her movements apace the uptempo beat. The taller girl noticed Zelda getting chatted up by a pair of students near bar while Katie kept a close eye on the proceedings. "How come I never got a visit weekend before coming to Bath?"

In the dark, in spite of Naomi being unable to see the expression, Emily rolled her eyes mightily. She smirked while smoothly spinning to look up at Naomi as they continued dancing in what miniscule space they could create. "Should I try and convince you tonight? Like a retroactive recruitment?"

Naomi nodded sagely; finished off her drink. "Mmm. Retroactively; precisely."

"And how," Emily began, whetting her lips, "do you suggest I start?"

The brunette stood on her tiptoes, tilting her head in anticipation of what she could only imagine would be an impassioned vodka-tinged kiss, but found Naomi leaning back cheekily. The taller blonde dangled her empty glass in between their lips.

"You could start by getting me a refill."

"Cheeky."

"Or I could find another place to study..."

"Fine." Emily shook her head. "I'll get you another bloody vodka soda."

"Ever the gracious host," Naomi teased. Emily plucked the empty plastic cup from Naomi's fingertips and began fighting her way back towards the bartenders. Just as she was about to disappear, however, Naomi grabbed her hand, spinning Emily back towards her. The brunette took it in stride, readying herself once again—and this time she wasn't disappointed.

Naomi let the kiss extend well past the quick peck she originally intended, but finally giggled. "If you want more of those, I'll be needing that drink."

An hour later, the quintet stumbled down the gritty stairwell and into the Bath night, stumbling into a gaggle a couple doors down outside a Chinese takeaway joint packed with drunk and hungry students.

"And this is the grand finale?" Zelda asked skeptically, jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the window panes filled with fading menu pages.

Emily vehemently shook her head. "That'd be well inconsiderate of us, Z. No, we're going to end this evening properly."

"Please don't say karaoke; please don't say karaoke," grumbled Katie much to Effy and Naomi's bemusement.

"Well, I was _going_ to say The Five Shot Challenge at Fleetwood's, but since you mentioned it..."

"Fuck me," Katie—and, surprisingly, Naomi—swore quietly. The two exchanged a glance behind Emily's back as the younger twin looped her arm in Zelda's and led them around the corner and down the street.

"Nervous, Campbell?"

Naomi snorted as Effy fell back even with them. She dryly informed the elder twin, "Naomi has only two dire fears: not being in control of every situation, and singing in public."

"Because other people always pick the song for me!" she protested petulantly, her pride stinging at Effy's effortless capability to pierce directly to her most base motivations.

"So really, it's just the first one," Effy admitted with a casual shrug.

"Kara-fucking-yoke," Katie jabbed a finger in Emily's direction as her sister drunkenly skipped down the sidewalk with their younger teammate arm-in-arm. "I swear, it doesn't matter who we're with, or where we go, we always end up singing karaoke. Why can't we go shopping or do one of those wine and painting nights—"

"Or literally anything else?" Naomi supplied.

"Precisely! Fuck's sake." Katie gave Naomi an appraising sidelong glance. "Never expected you to be my ally on this, Campbell."

"What, you were expecting Effy to be our conscientious objector?"

Katie groaned. "And then you have to go and ruin it with whatever that word was. Christ."

"Hey guys, we're here!" Zelda shouted back to them as she eagerly pulled open the door. "I'm gonna do a classic: 'Wonderwall!'"

Katie whirled, empathetic chocolate eyes pleading with Effy, who only smirked and brushed past into the off-key singing spilling onto the sidewalk.

"C'mon, Fitch," Naomi took Katie by the elbow and followed into the pub. "It's going to be a _long_ night."

* * *

During the first week of November, the Bath NPC training group sulked along the wall of the pool. Darrick stood in one corner, arms folded across his chest; the fierce scowl barely containing his frustration with the practice performance. Katie hauled herself out of the water, arms barely keeping her upright long enough to clear the side of the pool, before collapsing on her back. She breathed deeply, over and over, body overheating. In the lane below her, Emily draped her arms over the lane line, hands shaking as she peeled her goggles away from her eye sockets. In lane one, Moose and the other boys of the Bath contingent clutched to the side of the pool at Darrick's feet, each of them struggling to recover from the demoralizing main set.

Their coach studied the red digital time clock as it dispassionately counted off the seconds. He consulted his practice outline and clapped. "Next set starts on the top."

"He's gotta be fucking joking," complained Zelda under her breath as she lunged out of the water and snatched her equipment bag. The other girls mirrored her actions, ungracefully half-exiting the pool to drag their mesh equipment bags down into the water where they could extract fins while still recovering.

"I'm not joking, in fact, Ms. Tate. Maybe you'd prefer to do the set without fins?" Zelda refused to answer, opting instead to silently slide on her fins and press her goggles back in place. She lined up just behind Katie in their lane, with three other girls pressed to the lane line after her. Darrick paused as he finished pacing up and down the pool. "The no fins wasn't a threat, Zelda."

Katie whirled in surprise as the time clock counted off 56...57...58 behind her. Polarized goggle lenses glared up at their bearded coach. "If you're going to make Z go through this shite for no reason, Coach, she's not going to do it alone."

The boys in lane 1 departed the wall as the clock hit 00...01, but the girls in the three middle lanes all remained behind, one after the other, solemnly removed their fins and dropped them in heaps next to the starting blocks. Darrick nodded, his brow furrowed, "If that's the case, then go on the bottom, but the interval remains the same."

"C'mon, Z, we're with you," whispered Emily.

As Darrick turned his back to them and walked away trying to hide a proud smile, Naomi leaned over the lane line as well, stipulating in a rush. "Yeah, both with the initial sentiment and this teammate loyalty fuckery."

Desperate laughter rippled through the lanes as the clock neared 30. Zelda shook her head. "Comfortable being uncomfortable yet?"

"Always," replied a chorus as the twins simultaneously left the wall in their respective lanes, kicking as fast as they could.

Coach Mercer watched the different groups move up and down the entire fifty meters of the pool, noticing for the first time someone in a white Polo stood near the entrance at the far end. His brow furrowed in confusion; practices were never open to the public.

"I'm sorry, can I help you? Our practices are closed."

The young woman nodded firmly. "Sorry; I'm not trying to...I think we emailed recently, Coach. My name's Jalanda. I write for Swim Swam UK and I'm here to interview Naomi Campbell."

* * *

 **A/N:** Yes, of course there's a cliff hanger! This is me, after all. And now the important part. THANK YOU for the relative avalanche of reviews on the previous chapter; I count every one of them as a gift and a blessing, having powered through previous stories with nary a review in sight for several updates in a row. They really do motivate so, so well. **Marsupial,** **mswitsend** , and **fragrantlily** : you never cease to embarrass and humble with your praise; you're all nonpareil writers in your own right, so getting reviews of this ilk are always a shocker. **TeenAgeRiot,** the unnamed **guest** , and **tigertrap:** I'm so happy you're onboard and enjoying every chapter. Rereads are of course encouraged, and conspiracy theories or hypotheses or comments strike when you do, don't hesitate to share them! **2angelgoats** : Welcome to the party! Your flurry of reviews has been a joy to read and I can't wait to hear what else you think about this tale. And finally, **Irma**...firstly, good luck this weekend (you know what I'm talking about)! Secondly, if you don't comment on my second trope-deconstruction of this story I'll be very disappointed. Cheers all; thank you again for your support. It's absolutely astounding and I hope to hear some more of your thoughts going forward!


	15. Still Coming by Just for the Fireworks

Unbidden, Emily's gaze flitted to Naomi's bare shoulder blades yet again; even from across the locker room, the tension in them seemed to hum, vibrating the remaining droplets of pool water as they slid down her skin from her damp hair, her black-and-red practice suit. A piece of Emily felt she was being over dramatic—perhaps this interview wasn't a big of a deal as it first sounded when Naomi mumbled about it as she stalked into the locker room, flip-flops smacking against the tiles. But just those nearly incomprehensible words ("Bloody reporter wants a fucking interview") sent Emily's mind into overdrive as she composed an entire journal of questions with which to pepper Naomi. They popped in and out of thought rapidly, as if her brain were a frothing river and each question a salmon fighting against the current; they ran the gamut from harmless to exquisitely intimate and piercing.

Emily averted her eyes before Naomi turned around, towel furiously massaging her scalp. The blonde stared as the shorter brunette stood, immobilized and staring into her locker. _What's her problem?_ The temperature in the locker room had to be approaching zero Celsius—despite Katie's best efforts to pump the room full of steam from the showers, out of sight around the corner. Or was it just Emily's immediate reaction after hearing that Naomi's post-practice plans now included a sit-down with SwimSwam UK? Why would that affect her so... _oh, shit_. Naomi dragged the towel across her face, pausing to silently curse into is cottony depths.

"Ems?"

The neutral toned question ricocheted across the locker room and back to Naomi's ear; the intended recipient seemed to jump at the endearment. Brown eyes pivoted to meet her own pupils; Naomi chewed her lip.

"Yeah?"

"Have your sister hurry up, will you? I think we should all do it together."

"Do what together?"

"The interview, of course. Seeing as how we're all teammates and such."

"Like fuck we will," retorted Katie as she exited the showers, turning the conversation into her own outlet for the afternoon's pent-up practice frustration. "She's here for the only Brit to medal at Worlds. Hun, that isn't us."

Emily shook her head at her sister's absent tact. "Naomi's well aware of _why_. Would it hurt to see we're a united team before the Duel and World Shorts?"

"No...it's fine," Naomi backtracked, sounding emphatically like it was not fine. "I'll make it quick and hope Katie wins a couple events next month to even things out."

"Ha ha...joke's on you, Campbell: I already did my rounds after winning a medal at the Olympics. You don't have one of those, do you? An _Olympic_ medal?"

"Quit it! Both of you!" Zelda slammed her locker shut and whirled around, glaring at Naomi, then Katie, and finally, an embarrassed Emily. "She's not a boogeyman; she's a reporter. But if Katie's going to make that face—or make monstrous eye rolls when called out—then maybe only Emily should go, if you want a swim buddy?"

Naomi looked down at the blue-and-white tiles. "I don't want to do that." And without waiting for the argument to progress she pulled a National Team royal blue sweatshirt over her suit and exited the locker room, the echoes of her flip-flops admonishing the teens. As the door swung shut, Katie glared at her twin, who lowered herself to a seat on the wooden bench at her locker..

"And you're just going to let her treat you like that?"

"What?!"

"That's all about you, and you know it." Katie huffed, peeling off her towel and immediately throwing on her parka without changing—the ubiquitous 'naked parka.' "If you're just going to sit there and take it..."

Emily threw her hands up as Katie exited stage right to Naomi's previous exeunt left. "Z?"

"Look, Emily, I don't know all the details, or whatever, but I do know one thing."

"And?"

"You're good for her." The younger girl shrugged and finished pulling on her clothes, punctuating the silence with a firm sealing of her locker. "And if she can't realize that, well."

The lone twin watched her teammate depart in the wake of her sister and looked down at her feet. _Which one were you talking about, Z?_ Emily exhaled, exhausted; emotions finally caught up to the physical weariness brought on by a grueling set of two-a-days throughout the week. She stood, turning around, to grab her things out of the locker—and paused, arm hovering just about the metallic shelf, her movement arrested by a picture taped to the inside of the locker door.

The colors were slightly off, blacks bleeding into pinks into blues, from the dim light of the karaoke bar, but the snapshot from Zelda's 'uni visit' weekend lost none of its sentimentality or poignancy with the poor lighting: just right of center, Naomi stood bent nearly double, microphone in hand and wisps of hair escaping the hastily-made bun at the back of her head, eyes shut willing Emily to hear every lyric, as the brunette stood next to her on stage, stifling a laugh with a microphone-clutching right fist. There was no music emanating from the locker, but Emily could hear every off-key note. She smiled to herself, the earworm of 'I Want You Back' with its high-register notes resonating in her head.

She pushed shut the locker door, pausing with her hand over the back of the picture. Emily patted it twice and departed the locker room.

* * *

Naomi had to give the young woman credit: she didn't mince her words or waste her precious fifteen of interview time. The blonde swimmer shifted uncomfortably on plastic chair in the limited viewing area along the pool deck, her brow furrowed as she contemplated the reporter's second question (following a clipped, "How was practice?"): "You just won Great Britain's only medal at the World Championships, yet you were not on the Olympic roster last summer. Do you think your exclusion was a mistake, and did that motivate you this year?"

"I'm sorry, what did you say this interview was for, again?" Naomi asked, opting for a delaying inquiry in lieu of a direct answer.

The reporter—Jal, she'd mentioned hastily—smiled without the expression reaching her eyes and tapped her pen against a legal pad. She sat in a chair two away from Naomi in the same row; the gap may as well have been the length of the pool. "It's for our first quarter issue of SwimSwam UK for 2014, for our piece on the state of Great Britain's programme halfway to Rio, you know? Looking back at the European Short Course Championships and Duel in the Pool from December and looking ahead to World Short Courses in Doha. After your breakout performance in Barcelona, you seemed a natural fit for the article. I'll be talking to Coach Mercer as well."

"Fascinating," Naomi snarked before she could stop herself. Wincing, she shook her head. "Sorry; rough practice. It sounds like an interesting piece...if we do what we're capable of in December. Your question again?"

"Was your exclusion from the Olympic roster a mistake and how did that motivate you this year?"

Her eyebrows knitted together over icy eyes. "I'm not sure I'd characterize it as a mistake. Honestly, I wasn't good enough to warrant being included—"

"So it had nothing to do with your father not wanting to appear as if he was favoring you by selecting you for the team?" Jal interrupted pointedly.

Naomi clenched her jaw. "Kieran's not my dad. Not by a long shot. Does my mum maintain a relationship with him? Yeah, she does. But we long ago decided not to interfere in each other's bedrooms."

"Nice segue, Naomi. I wasn't going to get into the personal questions until the end, but now that you mention it...

"If you're about to try and make this a piece about my personal life, you can pretty much f—"

"Find a new line of questioning, is what she's about to say" interjected a smoky voice from behind the journalist, its rasps accentuated by the exhausting toils of the day's practices. Emily walked slowly along the row below them before collapsing in a seat between Naomi and Jal, looking up at both of them with a calming smile. Naomi glared in response; Emily's eyes flashed, hurt, but she maintained her gaze on her teammate while continuing, "So I'm sure Naomi would love to talk more about the Worlds, or her joining the National Team, or her swimming heroes. Right, Naoms?"

"Uh," the blonde cleared her throat and made eye contact with a stoic Jal. "Yeah, Emily's absolutely right. Anything about swimming is fair game; mine and my mum's personal relationships aren't."

"I didn't mean to touch a nerve," Jalinda protested weakly; Naomi glared coldly until the journalist quit shaking her head and looking contrite. "

"So to return to my original question, did not competing in the London Games motivate you this year?"

"Sure. You know, after...everything last year with not competing and whatever, I actually took some time to travel and train with some clubs in different places, get a different perspective. A swimming gap year, if you will. I was in a pretty bad situation when I left, from a competitive standpoint: my times leading up to the Worlds in Shanghai weren't good enough to qualify. Emily and her sister, Katie, they had such a great meet there and I could only watch from Bristol, which is kind of fucked up, 'cause I knew I could be there trying to medal too. Oh shit, am I supposed to not be swearing?"

Jal rolled her eyes in a close approximation of Naomi's own ubiquitous reaction. "I'll be able to quote you without them, don't worry."

"Right. Thanks, I guess. But like I was saying, I just wasn't focusing—and it wasn't just swimming, my mum and I weren't getting on and," Emily cleared her throat, forcing Naomi to pause and regain her original line of thought, "so I went to Spain, Cyprus...the Netherlands for a bit. And then my coach suggested I swim in a meet in Leeds, where I ran into this bad influence."

"She jests," Emily retorted. "All I did was make a suggestion; she didn't even want to speak to me"

"Still don't. She can be very annoying."

"Yeah, well, you seem to inspire it in me."

Jal smiled genuinely and scribbled several notes. "One of your other teammates on the National Team is a friend of your youth, isn't it? Effy Stonem?"

Emily felt her teasing smile slip at feeling Naomi tense imperceptibly. "Effy and I swam together when we were younger, in Bristol."

"I remember; I grew up there, too. I started swimming when I was already a teenager. It's always intimidating and awe-inspiring watching girls a couple age groups behind you swim faster than you do. So I eventually gave it up for music and journalism...Are you two still close?"

"Effy and I...have always been very competitive with each other. Neither of us likes to lose, or admit she's in the wrong. Now we just want to see each other swim fast and be successful. It certainly makes me swim faster on relays, knowing that our intervals are going to be compared."

"So you're okay with being teammates again? I still kept in touch with some other girls on the team and—"

"Yes, we're bloody brilliant teammates and pals and I expect to win every race so that I can wipe that fucking smirk off her face."

Jal and Emily both stared, stunned at the barely hidden venom in her comments. The animosity Emily first observed so many months earlier in Leeds always seemed to linger somewhere buried underneath a partial veneer of cordiality, but even the last time Effy visited them in Bath, if not while they shared a room in Barcelona out of necessity. it seemed to be set aside; apparently Emily had assumed erroneously..

"Alright, Naomi. I won't press any more on that. Just one last question. From my research, it seems you've been extremely active with several social justice groups here at Bath during this semester's courses—"

"I hate injustice," Naomi confirmed simply.

"Right. Well, it's just that with the World Shorts being held in Qatar next winter, don't you think it would send a powerful message if the women of Great Britain's team simply decided not to compete as a statement against the cultural challenges women face in the host country?"

Emily's eyes darted between the journalist and her teammate, equally nervous and thrilled that Jal essentially dared Naomi to make her swimming a public crusade. If the interview wasn't contentious enough before this last question, Emily knew without a doubt Naomi's answer here would determine the timbre of the piece published in the near future.

The blonde teen cocked her head and frowned. "If anything, I think a boycott is the wrong idea. Would it send a message that we don't support the restriction of opportunities for women? Yeah, it would, I s'pose, but here's the thing, Jal..."

And for the first time in the interview, Naomi smirked triumphantly—earlier admonishments for prying be damned. "What if my girlfriend and I go and show them first-hand just what young women are capable of doing when given a chance to succeed?"

Without another word, their movements poised and practiced after spending nearly every day of the term together, Naomi and Emily stood while simultaneously slinging their bags over one shoulder (Naomi her left; Emily, her right), pivoting, and extending a hand to one another. Fingers intertwined as if second nature and they walked to the end of the seats; Emily waved coyly at Jal as they doubled back past her seat along the pool deck and left the natatorium.

Out of earshot of the journalist, Emily looked up slightly at Naomi's profile. "You're going to tell me what the fuck this drama is between you and Effy, right?"

Naomi paused, free hand on the door into the hall. She glared back down the water towards the seats. "Yeah, Em, I will. Promise."

The hum of machinery and gentle lapping of water against the sides of the pool deafened Jal as she sat, pen frozen. Finally, movement in the near corner almost out of sight below the spectator area shook her from her thoughts. Coach Mercer sauntered around the railing and took a seat in the first seat of the bottom row.

"Impressive girls, aren't they?" he seemed to ask no one in particular; that his voice carried to her easily contradicted the rhetorical nature of the question and Jal knew he was addressing her. After a pause, Darrick turned. "We can do my interview now, if you want."

Jal picked up a messenger bag and slowly made her way closer to the coach. She glanced over her shoulder at the ghosts of two teammates, one brunette and the other blonde. "Yeah, alright."

* * *

The shuttle bus screeched to a halt on a narrow cobblestone street as pedestrians bundled in puffy winter coats and thick scarves meandered in multiple directions around the vehicle, crossing the plaza to the right, or hurrying into the Apple store on the opposite side of the intersection. The team disembarked and Emily immediately groaned; Naomi frowned, asking what her problem was, but needed no reply from Emily as Katie squealed in delight.

"They put us up in a hotel across the street from a _real_ store!"

"They're just clothes, Katie," deadpanned Naomi as they all clustered together in their matching royal blue parkas, shuffling in front of the shuttle and along the side street to the hotel entrance. Behind them, Cook stepped onto the stones and whistled as a group of university-aged girls walked by, shopping bags in hand. He threw an arm around Moose's shoulders on one side and JJ on the other.

"Lads, I think we're going to enjoy Denmark."


	16. But You Led Them to Our Hideout

I don't own 'Skins.' Proper note to follow...

* * *

Snow dusted the sparse grass stirp along the narrow road as their shuttle waited impatiently to turn into the parking lot of the Jyske Bank Boxen for the first of four marathon days comprising the European Short Course Swimming Championships. In the last row of the shuttle bus, Effy stared out the window, finger tracing the cool glass of the window—more accurately, the nooks and crevices in the snowflakes sticking to it; across the aisle, Katie bobbed her head along to a Fort Minor song that leaked into the seats surrounding hers; JJ's pencil scratched against his timing logbook, eyes twitching back and forth from the page to his watch; Moose and Cook swapping lines of a classic rap-rock crossover hit just behind JJ's seat; and in the seat just forward of Effy, Emily shifted to look out the window from where she was nestled against Naomi.

"Herning is peaceful, don't you think?"

"Almost lulls you to sleep," agreed Naomi. "Not exactly conducive to getting hyped for a meet."

Emily hummed in agreement. "Too right. Though, when you've got the Jay-Z wannabes over there, who needs an exciting town?" Failing to catch the underlying sarcasm in her voice, Moose turned mid-verse and pumped his fist in her direction; Emily half-heartedly replied in kind.

The shuttle bus trundled up to the kerb outside the center and dispensed the team, Darrick leading them up the walk and through metal doors. They divided into their respective locker rooms, emerging in clumps of two or three as they all changed prior to warm-ups; eventually, they gaggled behind lanes seven and eight at the end of the competition pool as the Netherlands national team hopped into six right beside them.

Cook, not bothering to hide his eagerness at appraising what Naomi'd heard him refer to on more than one occasion as the 'talent level' of opposing countries' teams, nudged Moose repeatedly as members of the Dutch, Finnish, Danish, and Swedish teams trailed past to their practice lanes.

"Fook me...hey, Blondie! I think there may be blonde-haired, blue-eyed babes in one room than I've ever seen. Usually, I gots ta settle for you when I'm needin' ta be distracted, but seeing as you're spoken for and won't let me persuade you otherwise—"

"Ever!" interjected Naomi with a glare.

"Right, to be revisited later. Well, I guess in the meantime, I'll just have to show Herning my charms, eh?"

Over his shoulder, out of his line of sight, Effy rolled her eyes magnificently and dove into the water, beginning her swim. Other members of the team followed suit, quickly passing her at the turn as she gracefully albeit casually swam her first laps. Emily groaned aloud at Cook's crass commentary, readying to jump in as well by stepping to the edge and tugging her goggles into place when an accented voice seemed to pierce through the splashes of swimmers and chatter of coaches and spectators.

"Spoken for, Naomi? What a shame; here I was thinking maybe I'd be able to compete in something where silver is the better finish..."

The blonde Brit froze, stupefied, as an even taller Dutch blonde with warm brown eyes winked and grazed bare shoulders with her on the way to a warm up lane down the pool. _Shit..._

Bracing herself, Naomi closed her eyes, pivoting to face the pool. Her eyelids squeaked open hesitantly, fearing the look in brown eyes she'd been contemplating earlier that morning—chocolate irises masked by polarized blue goggles in the brief moments it took to turn around and face them. Naomi gaped, fishlike, at the inscrutable look on Emily's face before emitting a pleading, "Em..."

Her brunette teammate chewed her bottom lip and turned to the water, hopping in both feet first before pushing off the slightly springy bottom and rocketing away from Naomi with short, powerful strokes.

This time the curse left her lips audibly. "Shit."

"Naomi, let's go! I'll push you in, if you don't want to warm-up," called Darrick from near the flagpole along the side of the pool.

"I'm goin', Coach." She growled in irritation, popped her swim cap over her blonde tresses, and slammed goggles in place. "Guess I'm swimming angry today."

* * *

Several hours later, well after the Scandinavian sun disappeared beneath the horizon outside the multi-use complex just outside Herning, Emily bounced up and down on the spongy mat behind the starting blocks, flexing her neck back and forth. Katie stood in her personal space, their noses separated by little more than a long eyelash.

"Are you focused on your race?"

"Yeah, yeah...I'm good, Kay." The younger twin pressed palms to her swim cap, ineffectual in pressing it even tighter to her scalp.

"Don't fucking lie." Katie cocked her head in frustration that Emily didn't seem to be as engaged for the 200 individual medley final as needed.

"I'm good, sis, really. Swimming angry."

"Well, don't swim slow, whatever you do. Do your baller turn and dangle a gold in Naomi's face afterwards."

Emily pulled her goggles snug against her eye sockets. "It's not a competition between me and her, or me and that bitch."

Katie rolled her eyes. "Sure it isn't. She's only four lanes to your left. You've got this, yeah? Come on. Fitch hug. Yes we're fucking doing one!" She clapped both of Emily's biceps several times before enveloping her younger sister in a fierce hug despite several vocal protests. "And I expect one in return before the fly!"

Emily watched her sister stalking away and knew a smirk played at her lips; no such optimism teased her own features. Stoic and coldly furious, she heard the whistle and stepped up onto the starting blocks as the Boxen fell silent...

"LET'S GO, EM!" Naomi's voice shattered the silence.

Flexing her fingers as they dangled centimeters above the ridged surface of the starting block, Emily growled low in her throat.

"Take your marks..."

The computerized 'beep' echoed through the natatorium, springing the ten swimmers from their sloped plastic prisons. Emily lunged forward, suiting Coach Darrick's words about trying to be the first swimmer to the water into a fluid action. Her perfect streamline scythed through the top of the cerulean waters; pointed toes followed as her arc flattened out and she tried to match the strength of kicks for her sister's chosen stroke: butterfly marked the first leg of the individual medley, then backstroke, her preferred breaststroke, and a final twenty-five freestyle sprint back to the bulkhead.

She sensed the seeming change in pressure as she neared the surface and separated her hands from the tight streamline, spreading her fingers apart to allow for a smoother transit through the water as she bent her elbows pulling both hands straight back under her chest. As they disappeared from her view, revealing the onyx strip along the bottom, Emily snapped her arms back to either side; they crested (with a thunderous snap-kick of both feet), thumbs nearly grazing the top of the water, and crashed back in front of her as Emily followed up with an equally strong kick.

Breaths came every other stroke, her chin rising part way out of the water—multiple chlorine-infused splashes seeped past her lips with every inhale—before plunging down again without distorting the critical element of every swimming stroke: good posture. Emily's determined stare crossed the 'T' just before the wall, and she decided not to force a shorter, interrupted stroke in favor of one additional dolphin kick to reach the midway point of her butterfly leg. Heading back through her own wake, Emily continued lunging as far with each stroke as she could, committing to the every other breathing pattern championed by her coach. Her hips worked smoothly, driving her strokes gracefully, if not quite as rapidly as her sister's butterfly technique.

Both of Emily's hands hit the wall, knees racing up to her chest as she tucked in tight. Just as violently she threw herself backwards, wedging her ears between her shoulders and driving herself back along the pool with every undulation of her hips, straining to cover as much ground as possible utilizing underwater dolphin kicks because she _knew_ most of the others in finals would build their lead on the backstroke leg. _Just hang in there, Em. C'mon._

The quivering surface of the water danced just above her goggles; water encapsulated her swim cap, then her face—and Emily's right hand soared into the air as she inhaled mightily through her mouth. Her body rolled towards the right until her pinky caught the water; it rolled back the other way smoothly as her left hand emerged next to her hip. The alternating windmills of her arms carried her the remaining half of the pool, feet fluttering just below the surface of the water as quickly as she could. Memories of Katie criticizing her stroke popped into mind: "Christ, Em, what's wrong with your backstroke? You and Effy both look like you're out for a lazy Sunday, but you're arse slow and she's an Olympian."

Backstroke flags appeared and vanished overhead; a solid, if unremarkable flip turn ensued; and Fitch resigned herself to willing every catch and pull back the way she'd come. Approaching the midway point of the entire race, Emily counted four strokes and lunged. Her fingertips brushed the black-and-yellow timing pad underwater, inciting her favorite part of the IM: the turn when switching from backstroke to breaststroke. Emily inhaled and did a flawless reverse somersault, the soles of her feet landing on the timing pad as she set up a streamline and pushed off the wall, shaving precious tenths of a second off her time with the unconventional flip turn; a young woman two lanes away did a more conventional touch, twist sideways, press her feet to the wall, release flip turn similar to the open turns of butterfly and breaststroke only to fall behind Emily. They'd come up with a name for her reverse somersault, she and Cook, after seeing it done in Beijing: the 'baller turn.' That none of them were remotely close to being considered 'ballers' seemed to matter; the optics of pulling off such a flashy exchange in a race to gain an advantage always reinvigorated the two of them; Darrick's adamant refusal to endorse it only encouraged their obstinance in performing the movement.

Emily felt as though she were a kingfisher plunging after prey beneath the surface as she rocketed away from the wall in (unknown to her) fifth place; the calves of the two girls on either side of her formed in her peripherals as she executed a powerful pull-out, gliding up even with their waists. A smug grin imprinted on her mind, though doing so practically was impossible.

She'd been anomaly in this event ever since she began competing at a high level: the overwhelming majority of her competitors tried to push themselves to their limits for the first half of the sprinted race, exhausting themselves on their best strokes of butterfly or backstroke before floundering during the breaststroke and attempting to just hold on during the final freestyle leg. It always irritated Katie in their youth—and even still in practice: she'd be a good body length ahead of Emily after the backstroke before helplessly watching her younger twin spurt past her her and then hold on to a miniscule lead. As she snapped her feet in a heart-shaped motion and rose to the surface, it was that look of pure outrage and frustration on Katie's face all those times in the Fitch Fitness pool Emily envisioned, and it informed her knowledge of a dirty secret.

Emily knew she was going to chase down every last one of the women ahead of her before they switched to freestyle.

The crescendoing roar of the crowd as she surged from stroke to stroke seemed encouraging, and sure enough, as she touched the wall with both hands and hazarded a glance to her left before disappearing underwater, Emily stared right into the black goggles of the girl in lane four. Emily pumped out three dolphin kicks as she left the wall, breaking out into freestyle just past the flags, every stroke as long as she could make it. They careened along the short course pool ( _God bless the extra flip turns_ , Emily exalted as she executed her final one of the race). Her breaths came in rhythm every six strokes, always peeking with the one goggle out of the water to the girl next to her as they raced back to the finish...

Her hand pressed against the timing board, right in the center of the black cross, and Emily awkwardly craned her neck up to see the timing board right behind the starting blocks. Around the pool, the crowd refused to cease cheering, and as her brain finally processed the data presented, she realized why: lane four out-touched her by three hundredths of a second.

A sense of loss flooded her thoughts, but evaporated a moment later as her silver medal performance sank in: her time was easily a personal best; the swim constituted her first individual medal at any sort of championship; and, most importantly in the short term, the dejected look on the face of the Dutch girl in lane eight told her everything she needed to know about _her_ performance.

 _Too fucking right, bitch._ Emily popped her goggles off and glared up at her teammates as they roared their approval. A brief moment of hollow platitudes and smiles to the victor and Emily slipped out of the water to go dry off and warm down quickly before Katie required her mandated pre-race Fitch hug and took the pool. Yes, this was most definitely a victory, not the narrowest of losses.

* * *

"GO KATIE! DON'T BITCH OUT!"

Emily cupped hands around her mouth, amplifying her voice—and causing several parents lower in the gallery to turn around with disapproving looks in their glances. Next to her, Naomi flicked them off and made an incoherent yell of encouragement.

Down the row, Cook leaned into Effy. "Still not talking to each other, then?"

The backstroker minutely shook her head in the negative.

"Huh...maybe they need—"

"Anything but the Cookie Monster's wiles, perv."

"Right...well, Naoms is clever. She'll sort it."

"Too clever," opined Effy with a sideways glance past Zelda, who continued clapping and watching race as if she wasn't equally focusing her attention on eavesdropping on their conversation. Naomi happened to look back along their row of bleachers, catching Effy's piercing gaze. With a huff, and a helpless peek at Emily, she stormed away to prepare for her impending semifinal in the 100 freestyle.

In the pool, Katie pressed both palms against the wall simultaneously as she contorted into a lightning-quick flip turn and began pumping both legs up and down in her vicious dolphin kick, muscles burning with each undulation of her hips. She broke the surface just under the blue and red flags, her arms flung back and out of the water as she began the last twenty-five of the race. She began breathing almost every stroke as lactose coalesced in her muscles and every stroke seemed too long to not be inhaling. Fires spread from her biceps through her shoulders, from thighs into her core, and she could feel her stroke slowing down egregiously as the final flags passed overhead, white splashes inundating the lane lines on each side...

Like her sister earlier in the evening, Katie managed her strokes approaching the wall; her efforts, however, exceeded even Emily's. She took her final stroke, arms sweeping forward to touch the wall at the perfect apex of her stroke. The elder Fitch stared intently up at the times, honing in on lane six—

She unleashed a spout of water into the air, spraying the edge of the block and slamming her hand into the water, splashing herself in celebration. The individual LED bulbs of the '3' next to Fitch, K. shimmered high above the pool: despite their mother's opprobrium, Katie would always celebrate a bronze in her least favorite event, the 200 butterfly. It didn't matter that butterfly was her strongest stroke; something about that extra one hundred metres, extra flip turns or no, became exponentially more brutal than her preferred event.

So absolutely, she'd take a bronze to start her Short Course Championships—and judging by Darrick's ebullient response as she scanned along the pool's edge, he shared her enthusiasm. Katie cast an eager look into the temporary risers crammed along the tile pool deck from end wall to end wall, seeking out her sister. At the opposite end of the natatorium, she finally found Emily standing next to Zelda, the two teenage girls bouncing up and down, pumping their fists towards her while their ersatz teammate stood with arms crossed impassively. Finally, Effy relented a small thumbs up, which Katie returned with a grin before hoisting herself on deck.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Katie found herself standing wedged between Effy and Emily as Naomi stepped confidently onto the blocks for the final individual event of the night. She clapped politely—the only one of the trio to do so, as Effy studiously fidgeted with her fingernails, and Emily steepled her fingers over her mouth.

"You're not seriously going to make me be the only one cheer—" The buzzer signalling the start of the race pierced Katie's whispered admonishment.

As the freestylers sprinted closer to them, Effy retorted, "Katie, when have you ever seen me actually cheer for anyone in a race?"

"She has a point," Emily said from behind her fingers.

"Don't try and be flippant with me, Em." Katie paused to yell and clap again as Naomi executed her second flip turn of the race, completing the first fifty metres in the second-fastest time in the heat. "Have you two even talked all day—oh, fuck, yes! GO!"

Katie's excitement stemmed from Naomi accelerating her stroke turnover and surging ahead of the older girl in the lane above her, slamming both feet into the final turn milliseconds ahead of her competitor: last lap comebacks always spurred Katie to cheer harder; the bronze medallion dangling from her neck swung back and forth. She looked askance at her younger twin with disdain. "Oh, come on, don't you want her to win?!"

Emily pursed her lips and ignored Katie's question, silently willing Naomi to close strong. Behind her fingers, she smiled, noting that Naomi hadn't taken a breath the entire last twenty-five, just as they'd strategized the night before at the hotel. It took far greater willpower than she wanted to admit to force the smile away as Naomi easily put distance between her and the field, cruising to a first place finish in the second semifinal heat.

"JJ!" Katie commanded as she touched and her time appeared on the board. "Where's she at?"

Emily whirled on their friend as he scribbled furiously in the margins of his heat sheet. He glanced up and down twice, double-checked his wristwatch, and smiled. "Seeded first overall for tomorrow's finals!"

"Yes!" Emily hissed in excitement before she could compose herself. Effy and Katie simultaneously arched eyebrows at her; Emily cleared her throat and contorted her euphoric grin into a frown. "I mean, mmmph. Good for her. Thanks, JJ. What?"

Katie shrugged at Emily's combative question. "Oh, nothing. Just confirmation of how unnecessarily bitchy you've been all day."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"The most astute observations come from those with the experience to recognize them," supplied Effy in a disinterested voice as she watched Naomi and the other swimmers take a quick warm down lap before the night's relay events began.

"Thank you, Ef—hey, hold on!"

With a smirk, the taller brunette stepped off the riser and sauntered past the rest of their teammates toward the ready room. Emily, recognizing an escape route, hurried after her, leaving an exasperated Katie to mutter a string of curses under her breath and follow suit. She glanced into the pool and realized Naomi halted her warm down to stare after Emily and Effy's retreat; catching the blonde's eye, Katie rolled her own and mouthed an apology. Naomi nodded in understanding and proceeded to finish a slow, well-earned if brief warm down before her final event of the evening, the 4x50 freestyle relay.

* * *

Zelda and Naomi skulked into the ready room just over a half hour later to find Katie sitting on a table reading a gossip rag, one foot crossed over the other and swinging where it dangled from the table's edge; Effy snapping shut a well-work black notebook; and Emily attempting to disappear into the furred refuge of her parka. The latter looked up immediately upon their entry—as a voice in her head immediately chided her for yet again proving her displeasure with Naomi had no rational basis. Emily ducked her head, staring intently at the screen of her smartphone and surreptitiously lowering the volume so she could listen to her teammates' account of the first day's last event.

"Well?" demanded Katie as Zelda crossed in front of her and threw her towel against the wall. A momentary bubble of silence hovered between all of them, before Katie took it upon herself to pop it. "I'll take it, not well."

"Naomi and I _both_ had PRs for our legs," Zelda groused. "But..."

"Ninth place. Bloody last place, wasn't it? If you don't count the fucking French."

"Deeked?" Katie clarified; Naomi nodded curtly. "Shit, well...you both did your part. Can't force others to do theirs. Em! Get up."

"I think she's tuning me out, Katie..."

"No, she knows better than to pull this trick on me," Katie retorted, hurling a slightly soggy flip flop in Emily's direction. Her twin easily deflected it, glaring up at her sister. "That's right. Don't pull your fucking 'woe is me, I'm actually ignoring everyone by listening to music' charade. You've heard every word."

"Thanks, Katie," Emily said sarcastically, but tugged the earbuds out nonetheless. "What'd you want?"

"Picture of all us! Get over here." Katie put down the magazine and heaved herself off the table. She herded Zelda and Naomi over to Effy while manipulating the screen of her smartphone. Emily crowded in and looked up at the mirror image of the group on the screen. Katie took several seconds perfectly situating herself in the frame before clarifying for everyone, "No smiles. #Swimangry, yeah?"

"I can't believe you just used a fucking hashtag in a sentence," Naomi bemoaned, but Katie patiently waited for her patented eyeroll and snapped the group selfie.

"Thanks, bitches. See you on the bus."

* * *

It was well after ten that night when their shuttle slogged through the sullied snow-slush on the streets in downtown Herning outside their hotel. The team trekked silently across the street—except for Naomi, who, after sitting alone in the first row of the shuttle, stood statuesque next to a skinny bollard separating the pedestrian-only square from the street. She pulled the hood of her parka up over her damp blonde hair and crossed her arms, waiting as most of the National Team dutifully crossed in front of the bus and entered the hotel. Cook and Moose disembarked one after the other, conspiring not-so-secretly on how to slip out of their rooms later to go out in the town. Katie finally emerged and stayed in step with the rest of the team, not even hazarding an admiring look at the fashions in the windows that held her rapt attention the afternoon previous.

Effy seemed to float above the snow, gliding into the hotel apart from her teammates...and finally, Emily emerged into the darkness, the last person off the bus. She looked up and found Naomi with an imploring look on her shrouded features. A shiver coursed down Naomi's spine, and she knew there wasn't much time before the night grew so cold having a conversation would be dangerous to their health.

"Em, can we talk, please?"

"Not tonight, Naomi. I don't think so." There was an affected edge to her tone that riled Naomi more than the day-long silent treatment.

"What, so you're just going to be fake angry at me the entire meet?"

"' _Fake angry!'_ " Emily rounded on Naomi, making air quotations with mittened hands. "'Fake angry?' You're unbelievable, you know that? What makes you think any of this has been faked? Don't answer that. I'm going to bed."

Naomi stomped after Emily, refusing to go quietly. "And what about me is so unbelievable, hmm? Okay, well let's play a game, alright?" They stormed into the deserted lobby of the hotel; only Effy remained leaning innocuously against the wall near the lifts. "Two truths and a lie: I traveled most of the year after the Olympic team selection, I swam with different women's clubs in a lot of countries, which meant I met people, and I actually stayed in a fucking nunnery at each stop on my trip."

Emily whirled around, shivering uncontrollably, though whether it came from anger or the fierce cold, Naomi could not tell. Her chattering teeth whilst responding, however, gave her away. "N...n...naoms. I di...don't want t...to talk about this right now."

"You're freezing, Em. Christ, you're not—are you?"

Emily blushed; behind her, sensing the two were approaching an impasse, Effy pressed the button for the lift. Emily glanced down, following the blue ribbon of her medal as it disappeared into her parka. Her response came as an embarrassed whisper. "I thought it'd tease and infuriate you. I'm still livid, don't get me wrong."

The lift chimed. Naomi shook her head as they stepped inside with Effy. "Well, you certainly infuriated me. That's not smart, or healthy, in this cold."

"Body heat is the best—"

"Shut up, Ef." Two voices interrupted in unison. The lift chimed once more upon reaching the third and highest floor. Effy led the way down the hall. Outside her room, next door to the room Naomi and Emily were sharing, she paused, key card hovering above the automated lock.

"I better not hear any furious makeup sex tonight. Or 'proving a point' sex. Or any other kind of sex, yeah? The morning session starts at 8. So sleep, and swim pent up tomorrow."

Emily's cold skin flared crimson as Effy's door slammed shut. Naomi, in stark contrast, stood far paler than she had been, but she shook her head to visibly dispel the suggestion. Unlocking their door, she held it open for Emily, who collapsed on one of the two double beds in their shared room. Naomi disappeared into the en suite as Emily fiddled with the zipper of her parka.

Aloud, she posed a rhetorical question: "What does Effy think goes on in here?"

Naomi poked her head around the bathroom doorframe, toothbrush sticking out from her lips. She scrubbed it in a circular fashion over her upper teeth, removed it, and spit in the sink. Before she could retort, however, Katie's voice from the next room over cut her off. "What happens whenever Emily decides to go 'naked parka.'"

"Good to know the wall aren't thin at all!" Emily yelled back.

"Go to sleep, bitches!"

"Fuck off!"

"And Em?" Naomi asked, after getting in a thorough cleaning of her bottom teeth, as she leaned around the door frame once more. The Fitch twin reclining on a bed in their own hotel room lolled her head to the left and hummed, exhausted. "Don't forget to grab your pillow from my bed before you pass out, okay? No sleepover tonight."

Emily gave a short, cold laugh to hide her disappointment. "Yeah, I'm sure your far-flung European fan club never heard that from you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to, in the words of my dear sister, fall asleep angry." She wriggled up higher on the bed, collapsing against the uncomfortably soft hotel pillows, and snatching her own personal pillow from the head of Naomi's bed. Chewing her lip several moments, Emily finally stood and unzipped the parka, climbing back under as many covers as the bed offered and falling asleep almost immediately.

Behind her, Naomi finished her nightly routine and stepped into the darkness of the hotel room, shuffling her way between the beds until she sat on the edge looking down at Emily's peaceful countenance. The tears welled up unexpectedly and, before she woke Emily, Naomi buried her face into a pillow to muffle the sobs, squirreling herself away under an equally high number of sheets and covers. The pillow absorbed all the frustration and aggravation Naomi could muster: tears ran right off her cheeks and onto the pillow, soaking it through to the center.

Just feet away, Emily lay awake facing the wall, silent tears of her own trickling down her cheeks as sleep reasserted itself and bore her into the next morning.

* * *

 **A/N:** Life and things...Excuses out of the way, on a serious note: thoughts and prayers especially to those in the path of these monsters the last couple weeks. Hopefully this raises some spirits.

Please, please-reviews and feedback! Future chapters will be forthcoming much more rapidly with said commentary. And, because I'm truly indebted to them always, to **Irma** , **FragrantL** **ily** , **Marsupial** , and **mswitsend**...champs, all of you.


	17. If I Belong to Anyone I'd Choose a Blond

**A/N:** First, there's apparently a terrible character limit on chapter titles, so yes, there should be an 'e' on Blonde. Not my fault. Rest assured, I'm not going away! I will keep working on this...even if the updates don't come as quickly as we'd all like. But I'd been kicking the tires on this for a couple weeks, then **mswitsend** pm'd and knowing she's alright and maybe even able to access a computer finally pushed me over the motivational edge so-to-speak. So, on the heels of **marsupial** updating her wonderful tale over the weekend, I figured I'd follow suit. For all those caught up by the jillion other news cycles, there are still tens of thousands without potable water or cell service after Maria...and only two in five have power 45 days after the storm.

I had the joy of making it to the last two concerts of an incredible tour recently-one of the bands has directly inspired this story and provides all the chapter titles and story title. The other? Oh, just a group I'd never have found if not for 'Finding Carter.' Do the math, folks. It's like one degree of separation. But anyhow, never turn down an opportunity to see Misterwives or Smallpools. They're the best.

Important PSAs provided, here's the newest chapter, and maybe **Irma** will be placated by some of the revelations. Maybe? I don't own 'Skins.' At all.

* * *

"So I'd best sort this shit right now, then, haven't I? Is that what you're saying?" Naomi glared at Effy's silent eyes; arctic and cobalt dueled for tense moments. Snapping again, the blonde declared, "Well maybe I will!"

"Will what?" The Derby accent scratched across her tympanic membrane, eliciting a wince. Effy's lips twitched towards her approximation of a smirk. Cook hopped onto the table in their team's ready room and bit into an apple. His attempts at continuing to guess made Naomi gag—though, even to her, whether that stemmed from his suggestions or the mushy chewed apple visible on his tongue with every word could not be determined immediately. "Shag ol' Ef here? Or maybe your twin...both twins?!"

"Now I'm _really_ going to be sick," Naomi said with a green expression.

Cook laughed and swallowed; he took another bite before continuing. "Nah, I know ya won't. Stuff of dreams, that...so what will you do, Blondie? Anything to do with how those eyes been red the last two days and you didn't even medal in your 100 freestyle despite being the overall seed?"

A small voice Naomi hardly recognized as her own answered him, unbidden. "Maybe."

Cook nodded and mimed stroking a nonexistent beard. His gaze drifted to Effy, who raised her eyebrows a millimeter. The teenage boy blinked as if brought out of a stupor. "Right! I have a race to win." He hopped off the table and hugged Naomi with one arm. "At least come watch the Cookie Monster medal in the backstroke?"

"Fat chance of that. You've got as much chance of medaling in it as I do with Em tonight."

"Bet him."

Naomi whirled on Effy. "The fuck?"

"Take the bet," Effy repeated. "If James medals, you have to talk through this shit with Emily."

"And then threeway?"

"Cook..." Naomi started, her tone threatening all manner of negative outcomes for the lone male in the room.

"Alright; alright! I ain't dumb enough to push my luck. How's 'bout instead, yous two help me with one of these Danish girls? There's a couple that are fuckin' top, man."

"COOK!"

He threw his hands up and backpedaled out of the room, waving his apple back and forth.

"You're going to lose the bet."

"And?"

"And you need to tell her everything." Naomi began to protest, but Effy squeezed her wrist, preventing her teammate from stalking away. "Everything."

Naomi rolled her eyes, attempting to tug away without success. "Ugh, fine! You're incorrigible, Effy Stonem."

The brunette smiled ruefully and shook her head. Effy released Naomi's arm as she headed for the door. A parting shot wafted through the stale chlorination in the air. "You haven't talked to me like that in years; don't start now."

* * *

Naomi knew that, as a good teammate (even if she often stretched the meaning of that on a regular basis as it was), she should wait until the race finished before leaving the stands. But with Cook and one other backstroker pulling away from the rest of the heat, a podium finish seemed all but assured. And Naomi knew what that would entail: Cook's fingertips brushing the timing pad; him roaring with laughter, doubled-over clutching the lane line; his finger pointing accusingly at her from across the Boxen; Naomi feeling as if the entire crowd blurred around her and the heat on her neck rose; Effy approximating a grin...

Naomi had no intention of remaining around for _that_.

Ignoring the questioning tone of her teammates as they called after her—and Emily's perplexed, furrowed brow—the blonde teen fled to the practice pool; shoving violently through the double doors, stalking down the tiled hall until the splashes of the swimmers and the pitched roar of the crowd receded into the gentle lapping of the warm down pool. A shiver rippled down her spine, undulating taut trapezius muscles, the nylon and lycra of her suit.

Screaming through clenched teeth, Naomi smashed her goggles into her eye sockets and dove into the pool. Angrily, her arms windmilled; her feet flutter-kicked at the end of long legs. Bubbles trailed along underneath her, expelled from her nose between gasping breaths. Nevertheless, her mind could not remain focused on her swim, on the evening's impending relay. While her eyes remained focused on the callous black tile lining the pool bottom, Naomi let her mind wander, resisting the compulsion to control its direction.

 _The girl didn't even seem to be swimming. Her every move defied the resistance of the water, arcing sanguine in and out of the water, with hardly a drop of water falling from her fingertips as she stroked up and down the Bristol Recreation Centre pool. So different from her own harsh, thrashing, crashing stylings. How could she possibly get in the water and pretend to be on the same team as someone as naturally talented as_ that?! _She wouldn't do it. The girl touched the far wall, languidly spun around, and began the smooth return towards Naomi's end._

" _I can't do it. The chlorine ratio is off. I can smell it. Isn't there another team?"_

" _Oh don't be trite, Naomi. It doesn't suit you."_

" _It's all that suits me."_

" _You're_ ten _, dear; there's plenty of time to remedy that. Now, in you go."_

 _And suddenly Naomi found herself in mid-air, arms spinning in distress; she fell into the water just in front of the girl. The swimmer stopped abruptly as her hand reached back and collided with Naomi's submerged head; falling in front of a backstroker was a dangerous way to enter any pool. When Naomi finally regained the surface, she found a pair of innocent-seeming dark blue eyes peeking out from red goggled-ringed eye sockets._

 _The house looked the same: same landscaping, same rickety Mini Cooper parked on the inclined drive (somehow defying laws of physics to remain in place and not slide back into the street), same ivy climbing up towards her window; but Naomi knew neither she nor the woman inside remained the same. It had been one of the American exchange students in Sevilla that told the anecdote about how no man (or woman) steps in the same river twice; if he (or she) ever returns, both they and the water have changed in the interim. She didn't understand the meaning of it at the time—except to make a snide remark commentating that any change to the river must have been because the man left to build a dam and ruin the environment upstream—but now, eleven months later with a swim bag over one shoulder and her ruck resting against the opposite ankle, pushing through the gate and approaching the door certainly felt as momentous as crossing the river._

 _Her mum still stored the tea in the same place; the kettle still rested on the back left burner. When they finally sat across from one another, Naomi fiddled with her spoon, trying to find a simple way of explaining herself._

" _Kieran's not...I didn't mean to...If I wanted to...It's normal, isn't it? Questioning things?"_

" _Which one of those thoughts did you want me to complete first, Naomi? All? One? None?"_

 _Naomi groaned, exasperated. "Aren't you mad?"_

" _Gracious, no, dear. Why would I be mad? You fucked off and told the swimming establishment in this country to 'shove it up their tits.' Direct quote; I had it on video...until I ran out of storage on my phone and had to delete it. It was either that or Kieran threatened to stop—"_

" _Christ, Mum!" Naomi gagged and took a steadying sip of her tea. "I just got home, but don't think I won't leave again."_

" _Right. I'll start with simplest first, then. No, the Irishman is not upset/mad/bitter at all about your storming off to take a gap year, as it were. Well, gap three quarters of a year, seeing as it's still only March and—"_

" _Mum!"_

 _Gina smiled warmly. "Secondly, I know exactly what you meant to do, and you did it. Wonderfully, I might add. As for wanting to join the Team after thumbing your nose before Shanghai, if my conversations with this new National Team coach are any indication, then by all means, you won't have much say in the matter. He's made it seem there's already a locker with your name on it."_

" _I wouldn't want to return to the club, though. If I'm going to do this, I need to be at the NTC."_

" _Oh? Why's that, love?"_

 _Naomi felt herself turning red. She took a too-long sip to break the smile trying to form; it morphed into a pained scowl at the heat. "Because I know who isn't training there all the time."_

 _Gina narrowed her eyes. "And you know precisely who is."_

 _The coach walked slowly past her chair and leaned against the near side of his desk, hands resting on his knees as he stared down at her. "You wanted to speak with me?"_

" _I'm turning down the offer to join the National Team."_

 _The coach blinked, perplexed. "But, you just picked up your first qualifying times over the holidays! What's wrong?"_

" _Nothing, per se. It's just...doesn't it look bad if I'm on the team while Kieran is in charge, and you're an assistant? Doesn't that reek of favoritism in the selection process?"_

" _Would it look bad if a student makes the Honor Roll at a school where their father is the principal? No. It's the same thing here. Why would you want to waste this opportunity? You have to be good to receive an invitation. Don't be a martyr, Naomi." He stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. "You've got such a bright future ahead of you. Don't lose sight of that. You're incredibly special."_

 _Naomi frowned. Her hand tightened on the strap of her swim bag as his began to squeeze. "Look...I'll think about it, 'kay? I just need a couple days."_

 _She stood up suddenly, catching him off-guard; he stumbled back, trying to act casual as he leaned back against the desk. He nodded. "Uh, yeah, absolutely. It's an important decision. But don't forget how much I invested to get you to this point, Naomi. You've grown so much since you first joined our club."_

A hand clutched her ankle. Startled out of her reverie, Naomi twisted violently, lashing out with her free foot _—_ kicking only the wall for her outburst. Her head popped out of the water, and she saw her captor squatting at the edge of the pool, balancing on the balls of her feet. Emily released Naomi's ankle and sat, legs disappearing into the blue.

"Sorry; I tried calling your name at least a dozen times."

"How long have I been swimming?"

"Uh, well, we have the relay in about ten minutes. So you've been in here awhile. All stretched out, I take it?"

"Yeah...yeah." Naomi began doggy-paddling back to the wall. She nodded, though Emily still seemed skeptical. "Ready to go. Cook win?"

"No," Emily tilted her head in thought. "He got second, but I've never seen someone that euphoric about getting out-touched at the wall before."

Naomi groaned as she crossed her arms on the ledge, idly kicking her feet back and forth in the water. She rested her chin on her knuckles. "He's happy because we made a bet on the race."

"Mmmph. He did seem awfully excited for me in particular." Emily's eyes narrowed as she put two and two together, and came up with five. "He bet something really dirty, didn't he?"

Naomi laughed; her forehead replaced her chin on the surface of her hands. Eyes closed as her chuckles persisted, she shook her head. "No, but I can see how you came to that conclusion. No." She looked up. "It's way worse...and better."

"Better, because it's sex? Or way worse because it's with him."

"Nothing to do directly with sex. He may have a one-track mind, but Effy sure doesn't, and the bet was her idea."

Emily's brow furrowed deeper, conspiracy theories exploding into technicolor. "Effy's idea?"

"Ems, don't think too hard about this right now. Let's take care of business in the relay, yeah? And then I promise, the nature of the bet will be revealed to you tonight."

The brunette breaststroker stood and crossed her arms. She made a noncommittal noise and headed for the doors leading back to the main pool. "Still sounds like a sex bet; guess you'll have to prove me right or wrong."

"Or both," Naomi ventured teasingly. She waited until Emily glanced back to hop out of the water, saunter over to her towel, and begin dying off before the last race of the Short Course Championships. As she pulled the thick cotton away from her face, Naomi processed that Emily still hadn't spoken _—_ but _was_ following her every move with great, if conflicted, interest. "Em?"

Speaking seemed to break the spell; Emily blinked and blushed at once. "Yeah...or that. See you on deck."

* * *

"This place is way fancier than I expected," whispered Emily in her ear as they stood awkwardly waiting for the non-existent hostess to return. The 'Please Wait to Be Seated' sign (in four languages) taunted them.

Naomi glanced down at their team apparel: sweatshirts, athletic pants, and trainers. As the hostess materialized from behind the bar at the far end of the restaurant, she glanced at Emily's half-dry messy bun, picturing her own shorter blonde hair lingering on either side of her face. "It's a hotel restaurant; they can't expect us to dress up when we're held captive here."

"Just two?" the hostess asked, her pale eyes taking a disapproving appraisal of their outfits. Naomi nodded mutely; the hostess plucked two menus from her stand and, without beckoning they follow, began a return journey into the heart of the restaurant. She led them around the bar and to a tiny booth nestled just next to the kitchen _—_ nearly out of sight from other patrons (Naomi noted amusedly that there were none). "Will this do?"

"Uh, sure." Naomi nodded for Emily to pick a side, then chose the opposite. After confirming they did, in fact, want waters, the hostess departed with a judging glance. The blonde turned to her teammate with a smirk. "I don't think she wanted anyone to see us."

Emily rolled her eyes. "And what gave you that impression?"

"Oh, you know...incredible intuition."

"And does that intuition say I want red or white tonight?" Emily studied the menu closely, reading every description in English underneath the proper Danish name for each dish. At least wines didn't need translating: all the grapes and Vineyards were only in English. She arched an eyebrow at Naomi, who finally found the last page of the menu and scoured the short list for an amenable choice.

"I think I would like _hvidvin_ tonight."

Naomi dropped her menu theatrically. "Oh really?"

Emily smiled behind her protective menu. "I mean...I don't know how to pronounce that o with the slashy bit, so this seemed the easier way to torment you."

"Jesus," Naomi muttered as their waiter arrived. She ordered two glasses of the cheapest white available and returned to looking at her menu. Something on the page with the list of entrées garnered her attention in the section labeled 'Traditional Danish Meals.' She waited until Emily was taking a sip of water before blandly remarking, "How d'you reckon they justify 'American sirloin steak' as a traditional Danish dish?"

Water spewed everywhere. Emily, crying from laughing so hard, tried to smack Naomi in retribution with the menu, but the blonde swimmer found herself lying sideways in the booth laughing equally hard. When the waiter returned with the two glasses of wine, and found both of them still laughing, Naomi couldn't help but start crying herself at his bewildered expression. He stammered that he'd give them a few more minutes and hurried away.

Emily dabbed at her eyes with her napkin, trying to bring her laughter under control. "You have to order that now."

"I most certainly do not have to do anything."

"Except explain what your bet with Cook was today."

Naomi froze, her wine glass halfway to her lips for the first taste. She carefully lowered it to the white tablecloth, eyes locked with Emily's through the entire motion. "No more jokes about the menu, eh?"

"No, but maybe first a toast? It's poor form to just start drinking, Naomi."

"Uh, right. Yeah. A toast." She elevated her glass a second time as Emily, expectantly smiling, brought hers up as well. Naomi cleared her throat. "To...to...to...do you have anything?"

"Plenty, but you already started, so you have to finish the toast now. Go on."

"I swear, Effy's been rubbing off on you. Fine. To returning to the Great Unknown, and discovering it was totally and 100% worth the leap."

Emily chewed her lip for a moment, brown eyes sparkling in the atmospheric lighting of their alcove. "To taking the leap."

They sipped their wine in silence for a couple moments before their waiter returned. Able to speak coherently, they ordered: lemon sole for Naomi, "shooting star" (whatever that was _—_ Naomi couldn't quite work it out, even after the waiter tried to explain it) for Emily. As he departed, Naomi leaned forward. "What? No sirloin?"

"I knew if I tried, I'd start laughing again, so I decided it wasn't the best choice. I do want to eat, you know."

"I do know. You always want to eat."

"Do not! Myths and falsehoods spread by my sister, which I constantly have to dispel." She took a drink of wine. "Speaking of dispelling falsehoods, what was the bet?"

With a heavy exhale, Naomi leaned back against the booth wall. "Well, I was being smart with him _—_ "

"When are you not?" Emily asked rhetorically. Seeing the perturbed expression on Naomi's face, she apologized and beckoned for the blonde to continue.

"So I told Cook he had as much chance of medalling as we did of shagging tonight. I mean, we haven't exactly got on well this week..."

"Which hasn't entirely been your fault, I know that. You're probably wondering why I've been such a head fuck since that girl flirted with you."

"Yes, I mean, no; I get why that bothered you. But bloody hell, Emily, you've been a wreck every night, which makes me a wreck, and I know you can hear it so that hurts you even more...honestly I'm surprised you even said 'yes' to having dinner tonight."

"Well, I really just came to find out what the bet was."

"Deprecating as always, aren't we?"

"Not always; that's your strong suit."

Naomi fidgeted with her salad fork. "I want to level with you, Emily. Now that the meet's done, and we don't have anything to worry about in the morning. Not like a referendum, or anything, but I owe you some answers, yeah?"

"I'd say so," Emily allowed. "Starting with Effy."

"Not with the girl from a few days ago?"

The brunette shook her head. "That was just pure jealousy. I let it get the best of me in the moment, and then that colored everything else while we've been here. I...the reason I came looking for you before the relay was to apologize, but then you had to go spilling about this bet between you and the most immature male on the National Team."

"And you finally came 'round to the idea that you've got whenever you want me, so being jealous is irrational?"

Emily balked, sheepish. "Not in so many words, but maybe something along those lines. Hence, the starting with Effy."

"Right, and you want our whole sordid history?"

"Are we talking, like, Masterpiece Theatre sordid, here, or something rather more tame?"

Naomi chuckled. "Definitely not that dramatic, though fallings out with your best mate at 13 can certainly seem like the world's ending, can't it?"

Emily shrugged. "Don't know. I haven't been able to get rid of Katie yet, despite each of our best efforts. Something about genetics and family and twins?"

"Bedeviling connections, those." Naomi finished her glass of wine before beginning. "I met Effy the first day of swim practice in my life. Nearly maimed her, really. Mum has no sense of tact in public, so she just shoved me in...anyhow, I had no idea what it meant to follow a training regimen; to be expected to fall in line with whatever Coach wanted; to be part of a team. My swimming prowess came from somewhere else entirely: I taught myself all the strokes watching the Olympics in Athens. We were on holiday, me and Mum, in France, and I couldn't stop watching them. Phelps and Coughlin and Coventry...they were incredible, and I would spend hours in the pool imagining I was them. It didn't matter to me that Great Britain had barely any women make the finals; it just seemed the most natural thing in the world that if the Aussies and the Americans had good swimmers, we must too.

"So eventually, after my mother put up with be being petulant and stubborn about not wanting to support some social construct or another _—_ yes, even at 10 or 11 I was a right pain, thanks, Mum _—_ she finally took me to practice in Bristol. The first teammate I met was Effy. She didn't say much, even then, but she had the most beautiful stroke, Em. I thought mine was incredible because I had nothing to compare it with, but I was so embarrassed at first to be swimming next to her at practice."

"I still feel like that," Emily conceded as bread appeared at the table; she ripped a piece off and slowly nibbled at it as Naomi continued.

"It's the truth, innit? Her stroke is perfect. But eventually I hit my first growth spurt and all of a sudden there's this awkward, lanky girl beating all the boys _—_ and Effy, sometimes, but never in backstroke _—_ and by the time we were 13, it was clear that Effy and I weren't just competing on a different level, but got on at a different level. We were smarter; more clever; aloof would be the best word, honestly. I thought we were inseparable.

"That was the summer of Beijing, and as I'm sure you remember, _everyone_ that ever jumped in a pool was watching that year. I had the biggest crush on Rebecca Adlington, and Effy knew it, just like she knows fucking everything. So afterwards, they had that parade in London, and Effy gets this brilliant idea that we should go. By ourselves. To fucking London."

"Christ. I'm guessing it didn't go well?"

"For who?" Naomi retorted bitterly. Her eyes flashed with latent betrayal. "We made it there alright, and then all of a sudden Effy disappears. I'm standing there in this crush of people, when all of a sudden the swimmers come around the corner, and there's Elizabeth Stonem _standing right next to her_. On the fucking bus, waving and smirking at me."

"Why wouldn't she bring you along if she knew how big a fan you were?"

"Because Effy didn't understand at that time you can't just _do_ things, even if you _can_. I wasn't impressed; I was furious. I left, went all the way back to Bristol. She came over the next day; didn't understand why I was upset. It probably wasn't that big of a deal, but it seemed like this huge act of treachery that she'd gotten to meet my swimming idol and not snuck me on the bus with her. I told her I never wanted to speak to her again, kicked her out of my mum's house. We swam together that whole next year, and I never once said a word to her. We'd swim in the same lane _—_ didn't matter in the slightest. And she already didn't talk to the rest of the team, so that whole year she stayed mute. Didn't say a word to anyone, just swam. And then her brother got hit by the bus..."

"And they moved to Plymouth, and then she joined the National Team and fell in with us. Yeah. She never mentioned any of that," Emily said crossly. "Not surprising, but not reassuring, either. Have you forgiven her?"

Two servers appeared with their dishes; presenting them grandly (and confusing them at first), they placed the plates in front of the teens and retreated. As Naomi poked at her sole, she contemplated Emily's question. Two succulent bites in, she finally nodded. "About the same time I realized that I'd been running from my problems for a year...about the same time this British brunette stared at me across a pool deck."

Emily paused mid-bite, staring at Naomi. She slowly swallowed, rinsed the bite down with a sip of white, and smirked. In kind, Naomi felt her body burn against the cold Danish winter that seemed to seep into the building. Their alcove seemed almost sauna-like in an instant. Failing at an attempt to come off as nonchalant, Emily followed up with: "While you're in an indulging mood, maybe you can tell me about that tan line..."


	18. All the Faces Will Fade Out

**A/N** : Yes, it's short. But think of it as a part one of two...and my goal for part two is this weekend, and I don't say that lightly. So, yay? Two, I apologize in advance for grammatical errors. **Irma** knows how those irk me, but I'm foregoing a deeper comb through at the moment in favor of writing the next chapter. Three, check out the Skins Book Club forum and write a one-shot! It's the cool thing to do.

I don't own 'Skins.'

* * *

The hotel lobby felt oppressive. Voices murmured, but quickly became muted by thick carpeting. Katie glanced at the guests milling around; at the concierge checking a couple in; at her sister affecting an air of irritable disinterest in the whole affair. Groaning, she grabbed Emily's wrist and tugged her into the loo. The swinging door closed agonizingly slowly, though Katie did not wait for it to shut to begin venting. She stepped to the marble counter encasing a pair of shallow sinks and teased recently-curled brown locks.

"Remind me again why we're doing this."

Emily, leaning against the whitewashed wall, shrugged. "What? You thought that if we invited the whole fucking family that we'd be able to avoid actually spending time with them?"

"At least until after the Duel was done, yeah," retorted Katie. Tomorrow's the last day of the meet; we should have been able to beg off until tomorrow. I mean, we can't even drink tonight to take the edge off."

"I don't think any drinking can compensate for the whole Spanish Inquisition, Kay." Emily pushed off from the wall and stalked over to make a show of washing her hands. "As long as we stick to the Golden Rule—"

"—Only answer in five words or less—"

"—Right, then we'll be fine." Emily twisted the knob, cutting off the warm water; she flicked her fingers towards the mirror, patted them dry with a towel. "Even if Gran gets under our skin."

"Or Mum."

"Right. "

"Or James, or Uncle—"

"I get it. We could spend an hour listing family members, but they're probably in the lobby now, so let's just get this over with, yeah?"

"Sure," Katie said hesitantly. She made eye contact with her twin in the large mirror. "Stronger together?"

Emily half-nodded, half-shook her head, used the mirror to guide her in squeezing Katie's hand in hers. "Always, Kay."

"Then let's get this over with..."

* * *

Glasgow could never be mistaken for Denmark in December, but it certainly seemed a close approximation to the members of the European All-Stars that represented their respective countries just a week earlier at the European Short Course Championships. A bitter wind stole into the natatorium at the Tollcross International Swimming Centre every time the main doors in the lobby opened, winding maliciously into the stands and along the pool deck. Darrick shivered as it tickled the back of his neck; ignoring it, even mid-race, was futile. He whistled louder and pointed at Effy emphatically, trying to make it into her peripheral vision as she backstroked past him. The piercing shrill emanating from his lips, urgently repeated itself; Coach Mercer's fists thrust into the air as she passed under the flags and neared the end of the race. For the briefest of moments, the only parts of Effy's body visible above water were pointed toes...then she emerged having stretched as long as her willowy form allowed.

Darrick glanced up at the scoreboard—and winced. Another time popped up and he nodded, begrudgingly satisfied. Holding serve would have to do for now. The event winner, a young American, waved to him as she did some cool down, and he reciprocated despite feeling guilty. The Duel in the Pool usually made for a light-hearted exhibition, but after a day and a half, this iteration pulsed with unsettled anticipation and rivalry. The previous five events—starting with the original clash between the United States and Australian swim teams at the Indiana University Natatorium in 2003 up through the most recent matchup between the Americans and a group of European All-Stars—all ended as blowouts by the Stars and Stripes, transforming swimming's equivalent of the Ryder Cup to an intrasquad scrimmage. But not this year. Excitement and dread tangled in Darrick's stomach: early the previous afternoon the Europeans claimed the lead and had yet to relinquish it. He knew both teams could taste the upset...or the failure to uphold a standard.

In the stands, Freddie and JJ huddled over the latter's psych sheet as the elder Fitch twin glanced nervously between Effy (gracefully doing a handful of cool down laps in the pool before the men swam), the two young men working out the size of their lead in real-time, and the knot of cross-looking fans in the upper corner of the stands. Her father gave an encouraging thumbs up; in perpetual contradiction, her mother scowled next to him, surrounded by equally dour relatives.

"Hey, quit stressing about them, alright?"

Katie turned around, finding Zelda tapping her foot impatiently, arms crossed in billowing parka sleeves. "They're here supporting us, right? So just swim."

"After last night, I'd rather they'd just stayed in fucking Bristol."

Zelda frowned and sat down, patting the hard plastic in an invitation for Katie to mimic her actions; the twin huffed and acquiesced. "Talk."

"Well," Katie began, "seeing as we're in the MacIntyre clan's backyard, months ago Ems and I suggested that my mum and dad at least make an effort to attend, in a fucking good faith gesture or whateva. What a joke. We met my parents in the lobby of the hotel, and my little brother immediately demands to know why he can't interview the women's team in the locker room. After very nearly subjecting the bellboy to a murder, we had them hail us a cab to meet the rest of the family, most of which still lives in Cambuslang and Giffnock."

"I'm sorry, the fuck?"

But Katie continued rambling, "Of course, we just had to eat at Ardnamurchan—"

"You're literally just making up words now," groused Zelda.

"—ha ha. Unfortunately, no. It's the family's go-to Glasgow restaurant. Gran refuses to anoint any other as 'true authentic food.' Fuck's sake. And so we cram fifteen Fitches and MacIntyre's into this long booth where they'd pushed four tables together, and then while Ems and I diligently did not partake, the rest of the family proceeded to get absolutely smashed and interrogate my sister and I."

"You make it sound like you were on trial or something."

"That's not the worst description I can think of. Of course, we skated through the basic shit like our coursework and the obligatory congratulations after they found out we both medaled multiple times in Denmark, but that of course led into my grandmother commenting that Mum never settled for short course bragging rights when she became the youngest woman to ever medal for Great Britain in the Olympics, and we were off."

"Jesus."

Below, the men got the signal to start the 100 backstroke, and Darrick's signature whistle pierced the air. Zelda and Katie paused to glance up at their European All-Stars teammates as they moved down the pool towards the far end.

"Yeah, it wasn't the best segue," Katie said, returning to her previous train of thought. Zelda turned to look at her in profile. "Of course, the logical continuation of that thought to my Gran was to ask if Emily was still wasting her valuable training time on 'despicable distractions.' So Emily bit her tongue and ignored it for a few bites of food...and then my aunt had to ask, since to her knowledge I hadn't dated someone in ages—which is totally a lie, by the way, thinking someone as fit as me wouldn't be off the market—whatever, she asked if Emily had 'recruited me' over to her team."

"Fuck," Zelda whispered. In the pool, the backstrokers careened back towards the finish. "And how did you respond to that?"

"I didn't get a chance to. My mother made a sound like a strangled puppy and promised her eldest daughter would never think of betraying the family like that. Of course, that prompted Emily to throw her napkin across the table at them and storm out. I thanked my mom as sarcastically as I could and then followed Emily out. We walked all the way back to the hotel, two sobbing sober wrecks, and later in the evening Dad called to apologize."

"Well, they showed up today, at least. To support you guys?"

Katie shook her head, bitter. "No, that's their idea of an apology from the family—or it's just their way of brushing it under the rug and pretending everything is fine in public. Not sure which, but they're in for quite the rude awakening when that SwimSwam article comes out."

"Pun intended?"

Katie laughed darkly. "No, but it should have been."

The men exited the pool, effectively pausing the conversation as Katie elbowed Freddie.

"Ow—fuck was that for, then?"

"A reminder for Einstein here to tell us what the score is now."

"We're all still up 8, but the Americans have some really solid breaststrokers up," JJ reminded everyone as they began arriving behind each line one by one. Katie looked down towards the pool deck, making eye contact with Effy as the taller young woman slowly made her way up to their seating area.

"Yeah, and the coaching staff decided to keep Emily held out of it on top of that...Christ, we're liable to get swept."

"Statistically speaking, no. Kira's a medal threat in Rio and swims for Leander usually; she should definitely be on the podium and get us some points."

"She was purposefully seeking out the most negative outcome, Jay," Effy supplied as she sat next to Zelda and glanced about the natatorium. "Katie's an extrovert; right now she's channeling the absolutely awful energy from her family in the corner."

"Effy takes two university psych classes and all of a sudden she's a fucking psychiatrist," Katie grumbled loudly enough for the subject to hear. Zelda shook her head and laughed at Effy's unflappable shrug.

"I don't think she minds that assessment, Kay."

"Yeah, well..."

"I take it seeing the family didn't go well, then?" Freddie asked, oblivious.

"What, you weren't eavesdropping for the last, like, fifteen minutes?"

"I thought eavesdropping was supposed to be a bad thing, yeah?"

"Forget it." Katie stood and took two steps down towards the deck, before thinking better of it. She whirled. "Short version: No, it did not go well. Now if you all will excuse me, I'm going to go find my sister and make sure she and her girlfriend aren't, like, shagging and going to miss their events."

"Fook me, do mine ears deceive me, or did the Cookie Monster just hear confirmation of somethin' he'd believed only existed in some magical fantasy realm not even Jenkins could think up?" Katie slowly pivoted just in time to see Cook put a hand to one side of his mouth and stage whisper, "Lesbian twin threeway?"

With a shriek and two punches to his shoulder, Katie stormed away, muttering to herself about the rudeness of her teammates, one sandy-haired male in particular.

* * *

She found Naomi and Emily seated at a table in the team's ready room, playing cards. Emily looked up, red-eyed, and smiled. "Oh, hey, Katie."

Their blonde teammate waved without looking and played two cards from her hand. "Let me guess, it's almost the 50?"

"Campbell, you say it as if I wouldn't be looking for you if it didn't directly affect the team's performance..." Naomi finally turned around, one eyebrow raised precipitously. "Okay, fair point. Yes, it's almost for your two times to shine. And both of you bitches had better show out: we're only up by single digits—"

The echoes of a 'U-S-A U-S-A' chant interrupted her.

"That will suffice, I think," Naomi deadpanned. She placed her cards face down on the table, stood, and embraced Emily. She kissed her on the crown of her head. "Time to go save the world."

Naomi gathered her towel, goggles, and swim cap before departing with a thumbs-up to both of them; neither Fitch returned it. Emily put her cards on the table and stared at their blue-and-white pattern until Katie took the seat just vacated and waved a hand in her face.

"Em, hey..."

"I can't swim today, Katie."

"Well that's a bloody lie: I saw you swim warm up earlier."

Emily groaned and swiped her hand across the table. Cards fluttered and landed in Katie's lap, on the floor. "You know what I _mean_. Don't act difficult, Katie, please? I don't need that right now."

As she picked up the scattered deck and placed them back on the table, Katie didn't budge. "Like fuck I won't be difficult. Your event is coming up way faster than you'd like, and your team is counting on you to go out there and swim your best individual medley, like, ever, kay? _I_ am counting on you. Naomi is counting on you...No! No, let me finish what I have to say. Christ, I can't believe I have to explain this. They don't care about the shit we dealt with last night at dinner. I mean, Naomi does, but the rest of the team. Darrick? They have their own demons, Emsy. And you know what? The best way to make Mum's family fuck off is to go out and win. You know that, right? Shut them up with the only result they expect from us. You do that, and we might even beat the Americans. And there's a couple guys that look like they could use a good consolation shag..."

In spite of fresh tears, Emily laughed. "Only my twin could turn an inspirational speech into a commentary on her ability to shag the opposing team's fittest swimmers."

"It's called talent, bitch." Katie leaned forward and enveloped her sister in a ferocious hug. "At least we inherited one good thing."

"No, this comes from Dad's side," Emily retorted as she returned the embrace. A quick swipe at her eyes didn't quite erase the tracks of her tears, but it would have to do for the moment. Redness could always be blamed on wearing goggles too tightly. "Right, let's do this."

* * *

"Fook, I don't know what you said to her in there, but it's workin' a charm right now," Cook said in admiration, as Emily surged past her competitors during the breaststroke leg of the 200 IM.

"Either that, or seeing Naomi win the 50 a few minutes ago got her this fired up," Effy offered, arms crossed, passively watching the race. Naomi's victory, however, went for naught as the American male team swept the 50 freestyle immediately following her triumph.

"Fat chance. It was so me," insisted Katie as she clapped louder. "GO EMILY!"

The willowy brunette behind her looked down the bleachers at the rest of the Fitch family and muttered under her breath, "It most certainly isn't their vocal support."

Zelda shook her head. "I don't understand it at all. They should be so happy for them. Katie and Emily are two of the best swimmers in the world."

"If only things were that simple," the older girl replied. Katie craned her neck back to scowl and them and Effy flicked her off. "Just keep cheering, Fitch. I'm sending positive vibes towards lane five, don't worry."

"Cue the mythical shit she learned in one class on Eastern Mysticism's Influence on Great Britain's Upper Class."

"Oi, if yous don't pay attention quick, you'll miss another win!" Cook interrupted without taking his eyes from the pool. He shouted incoherent noises of encouragement to punctuate his point as Emily freestyled under the flags and approached the wall, half a body length ahead of the American woman in lane four.

"YES! YES YES YES FUCK YES EMS!" Katie roared. She glared over at the Fitch fan club, where Rob stood roaring with equal aggression—and her mother stood clapping mildly as a handful of her relatives mimicked her.

"We also placed third, so that pushes us back in front by 3 points," JJ tapped a pen against the psych sheet and nodded. "Now we just need Moose to sneak up into the top three or we're in trouble."

"What do you mean, 'trouble?'" Zelda said slowly.

"Well, Naomi is going to anchor us to a win in the 400 free relay, but then Jones is obviously going to close out the men's relay for the Americans, which will mean we're tied. Again. Bobbins."

Below them, Emily climbed out of the pool after a brief warm down. She waved up to her teammates; their lackluster response perplexed her—until she spotted Naomi standing on the deck next to Darrick, her blue eyes sparking, and the waning excitement of the bleacher crowd disappeared from her mind.

Katie chewed the nail on her thumb, mulling the likelihood of the outcome JJ outlined for the rest of the meet. Over her shoulder, Effy stole the word from her lips: "So what happens in a tie?"


	19. We'll Send Them Up a Message

**A/N:** Well, it's a long weekend here in the States, so I'm still counting this as posting the second part of the Duel over the weekend. **Mswitsend** , I hope you get to read this before you're off the grid. Thank you so much for having my back and giving amazing feedback; we all have yours every day and night until things get fixed at home. Promise.

Thanks to **Marsupial** , **Irma** , and **lizzie** for providing awesome reviews too! No apologies for the cliffhanger last time; I'm a huge fan of them. As for this, not so much of one, but I kind of see it as a mini-conclusion in the larger Act II, if that makes sense, as the team wraps up the 2013 year and moves forward towards Rio with some new challenges (and trips...hey there, Doha, looking at you next).

Don't own it.

* * *

"No, we should alternate them, girl/guy," insisted one of the other European coaches.

Aggravated, Darrick slammed a clipboard against the table. "That's been proven to be slower. In every meet with mixed relays, that set up gets beaten by guy-guy-girl-girl. The difference in splits on backstroke and breaststroke is relatively more pronounced; besides, we have better depth on the butterfly and freestyle."

"You just want your own swimmers getting the glory, or maybe that isn't it at all. Maybe you're trying to throw it to help your friends on the American team."

"You son of a—" Darrick lunged at the other coach; Kieran intervened, wrapping his arms around Darrick's shoulders and hugging him tightly.

"None of that shite now. C'mon, lad."

The bearded American-born coach extricated himself from the embrace and backed away. Darrick wiped a hand across his mouth, shaking his head. "I just want to win, dammit. My heart is pounding right alongside those swimmers in the next room—our swimmers. The European All-Stars have a chance to do something nobody has done in five previous tries: beat the Americans in a Duel in the Pool. I appreciate you've never met me before a couple days ago, but never accuse me of treasonous intent or underestimate my desire to win. We go men for the backstroke and breaststroke; women for the fly and free, and we walk away with one of the great dual meet victories in swimming history."

The coaches huddle fell silent. Kieran scratched at his own beard, breaking the silence after an appropriately dramatic pause. "Right, ya fuckers. Who's swimming which leg?"

* * *

Darrick entered last after a train of six coaches and closed the door, faced the gathered EAS team. They looked up from disparate groups: the British young women sitting cross-legged in a circle in one corner; Cook, Freddie, Moose, a Frenchmen, and a Swede perched on a table using the seats as footrests; JJ sitting at a desk in another corner, furiously working on splits and relay lineups; the remainder of the All-Stars scattered around in no discernible pattern.

"As you all are aware," he began slowly, "We are tied with the American team following the normal order of events. Rules dictate that the tiebreaker will be a Mixed 200 Medley Relay: two men and two women, in any order.

"Before we name the relay, I just want to take a moment on behalf of the other coaches, to commend each and every one of you on an incredible performance the last two days. All of you had outstanding swims—even if your time didn't necessarily match your ambitions." Darrick began moving slowly through the room, making eye contact with each member of the team one by one. "Most of you competed in the Short Course Championships last weekend and flew from Denmark straight to Glasgow; the Americans aren't coming off any meets for the last several months. That we've outswam them, forced them to change their lineup to ensure they could salvage points to tie this meet at the end speaks to our tenacity, our courage, and our competitive spirit.

"But we're not done yet, are we? We have one more race, two more minutes until we can celebrate, and you know what? It doesn't matter that we're exhausted from back-to-back meets, that they made a comeback this evening and would probably claim to have momentum. The clock doesn't give a fuck. It doesn't care whether you just swam an event ten minutes ago, or if you're sick, or if you had a meet last weekend and are burned out. It's impartial and cold and emotionless, and when it stops, I expect it to show our time with a '1' next to it, and a '2' next to theirs."

The room exploded in noise as a roar of assent clashed with clapping and banging on tables. Darrick let the outburst continue until it died out naturally; he unfolded the psych sheet in his hand, the mixed relay line up written in pen in the margin.

"And here's who's gonna win it for us..."

* * *

At a table crammed into the corner of the mezzanine, the pair of American commentators received the list denoting the makeup of each relay; simultaneously, the production team outside began putting together a graphic to display on the minor cable sports channel broadcast. The balance of both squads crowded onto the pool deck behind the starting blocks, goading each other into louder and louder cheers as the announcers spun around to face the small, steady red light.

"Well, here we are, folks." The play-by-play announcer grinned ruefully and addressed the camera. "The overtime of swimming. Not something usually seen in large meets, but in a dual meet exhibition like this one, it's a great way for the teams to settle things head-to-head, and judging by the noise level in here, Rowdy, absolutely thrills this crowd."

"That's absolutely right, Dan," the color commentator chimed in. "It's so exciting for the swimmers, for the coaches, the fans. And making this even more unique, they'll be swimming a 200 mixed medley relay: each team picks two men and two women and they swim the normal sequence of strokes."

"Backstroke, followed by breast, then butterfly, and finally the freestyle anchor leg," clarified the play-by-play unnecessarily. "And is there a strategy to it?"

"Well, that's the fascinating thing about this." The broadcast feed cut away from the two men, focusing on Coach Mercer where he paced the pool deck like a caged tiger. "Darrick Mercer, who for many years coached at the collegiate and Junior Olympic ranks in the States, is widely credited with determining the best order and assignment of strokes for the mixed relays. Now, he's the head coach of the British National Team and one of three co-coaches for the European All-Stars."

"One of many storylines we've been following over the last two days...and here they come!" The broadcast refocused on the two sets of four swimmers as they walked out onto the deck behind the starting blocks. The natatorium sound system reverberated with the epic orchestral sounds of the 'Gladiator' soundtrack. "If I'm not mistaken, it seems the European All-Stars opted for a bit of gamesmanship!"

The color commentator laughed appropriately. "They have, and I love it. Walkout songs are one of the more personal flourishes of any dual meet, and I have to suspect that the hosts picked this as a way to distract the Americans while they listen to their own music—notice all four are wearing headphones—to focus on the race."

"Always great to see these swimmers—many of them still just college students or younger—letting their personalities shine through for a bit. Now, they'll be right next to one another, in lanes four and five, the Europeans in four, to the top of the screen. What do the lineups look like, Rowdy?"

"As we mentioned, Coach Mercer really patented this approach." A graphic appeared on the screen with the two four-person relays next to one another, small flag graphics identifying their countries of origin. "So both squads are going with men in the first two strokes, and then women will swim the butterfly and the freestyle. For the Americans, they've opted for youth with Godsoe the elder statesman leading off with the backstroke, Cordes taking his speciality, the breaststroke, and then the gold medalist Donahoe and the seventeen-year old Simone Manuel anchoring the freestyle.

"On the European side, they'll counter with Stravius swimming backstroke, Dugonjic the breaststroke, and then a pair of those four phenomenal young British ladies we've been talking about throughout the Duel: _Katie_ Fitch, and Naomi Campbell. It should be a tremendous race, Dan."

"Thank you, Rowdy. And sure enough, here they are. That's the whistle and the swimmer are entering the water, getting their feet set, and..."

The buzzer blared, and the crowd—having held its breath for a couple seconds—erupted in a frenzy of yells, stomps, and claps. Whistles pierced the air. The backstrokers emerged from their underwater kicking right at the fifteen meter mark, the American slightly ahead. As they swam, arms swinging in large clockwise rotations through the air, the Yank began to pull ahead. They hit the far wall and executed flawless flip turns, churning through the second twenty-five meters of their leg. Godsoe extended to a half-body length lead and stretched for the wall with a long lunge, fingertips grazing the touchpad as their breaststroker dove over top of him. In the lane to their left, the Slovenian pressed his polarized goggles to his eyes and leaped into the water, needing to make up nearly seven-tenths of a second—or at least slice into it.

Naomi looked up at the timing board nervously, chewing her lip. There was no way they could make all that time up in one fifty: each of them would have to narrow the lead and it'd be up to her to bring them home for an upset. Effy and Emily quickly determined the same over to the side with the rest of the team, the younger twin shouting words of encouragement towards her sister, who now stood on the block ready to hurl herself into the water one last time in front of her teammates and family.

"And here they come into the halfway point, Cordes is maintaining that lead...the women are in the water..."

"GO KATIE!" The crowd seemed to swell, clearly partisan towards the host European team.

Dan, the play-by-play commentator realized the shift. "Fitch is gaining on her heading into the wall—"

Emily muttered under her breath, "Fuck yes no breaths, sis."

"Look at her underwaters! She's gaining on her!" supplied the color commentator on the broadcast, breathless and oblivious to Emily's urges.

"Fitch is catching her alright; they're just about even as we come into the final exchange...it's clean, and the Americans maintain a sixteen hundredths lead. It's Manuel against Campbell for the title!"

"Look at the difference in their stroke rates! It's incredible."

Indeed, with just the two of them in the pool, Naomi's elongated, powerful strokes seemed to pull her forward far more efficiently; nevertheless, the American continued to hold a slight edge as they reached the wall and made their flip turns. Naomi thundered past the flags with several dolphin kicks before resuming her long strokes.

"This is it, the last meters now, AND CAMPBELL IS PULLING EVEN!"

"I don't believe this, Dan—Wait, it looks like—"

The swimmers careened into the wall, reaching into the yellow touchpad; the stands on both sides of the pool shaking, then falling eerily silent...

Times appeared on the board high on the wall above, nearly identical: the only digit different the tenths of a second spot, and that difference spurred a second eruption from the American team as they jumped around the deck, hugging each other, clapping the swimmers on the back, high-fiving them, and breaking into chant after chant.

Naomi floated in the water, craning her neck up at the board, dumbfounded. Where had that late burst come from?! She _had_ her. Naomi wiped a hand across her face, patted her competitor on the shoulder.

"Great race, yeah?"

"Thanks." Simone shook her hand with a sympathetic smile. "See you next summer." The teen hopped out and Naomi followed suit, where she was promptly swallowed in a Fitch hug—but not the one she expected.

"We were fucking brilliant; men, am I right?" Katie whispered urgently in her ear.

Naomi laughed and stepped back, nodding. They hugged their fellow relaymates and stepped down from the raised starting blocks onto the pool deck, where the rest of the European All-Stars mobbed them. It shouldn't have surprised her, but suddenly in the crush of people there was Emily, looking up at her with the sort of admiration and sadness that she couldn't imagine being able to manifest in equal amounts in anyone else. She closed the distance in a stride, hugging Emily to her.

"You were amazing, Naoms. Great race."

"We lost," Naomi said bitterly.

"Does this sound like losing?" Emily stepped back and nodded towards the stands. The overwhelming majority were chanting 'Let's Go Europe,' despite the outcome; it persisted as the two teams maneuvered into two lines and shook hands. As they wound around, the crowd roared anew and Cook hopped like a rabbit over to the stands, pumping his fists into the air. A sea of blue-clad fans rained their appreciation down on the host team, acknowledging their efforts.

Yet, Naomi noticed that the twins weren't looking up into the cheering masses: the small thorny outcropping of silent fans in the far corner held their rapt gazes. She placed an arm around Emily's shoulders; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Effy do the same with Katie and Zelda appear in between them to complete the protective embrace. Cook and Freddie pushed through the crowd, standing behind them with matching grim demeanors. Emily looked back and forth between them, tears threatening to brim over. Effy smirked.

"We're your family too, you know."

Emily found Katie's hand, squeezed it, and then felt the bubble of teammates envelope her as she sobbed in agreement.


	20. Tonight We Feel Famous, Don't We?

**A/N** : Sorry for the lag in updates...this one took some grinding and teeth-gritting. However, thanks to some wonderful inspiration over the last two weeks from the Winter Olympics I've wrapped it up (if you followed it, I'd love to hear favorite event/athlete/moment stories. And I'd like to think there's an alternate universe in this story where the girls are badass curlers instead of swimmers). I also went back and made a small continuity correction to an off-hand reference a few chapters ago. As I've mentioned, not many swim meets at this juncture in the story, but the minor cliffhanger should be enough to keep you all coming back for a bit more before we get there? Hopefully?

As always, I'm indebted to the inspiration and challenges to be a better writer that **mswitsend** , **marsupial** , **fragrantlily** , and many, many more provide. Your work and feedback and support are priceless. Thank you!

I don't own 'Skins,' but I did yell out 'Posh Kenneth!' every time Daniel Kaluuya appeared in Black Panther, so there's always that.

* * *

For the fourth day in a row, Naomi ripped the same picture of herself—scowling, arms crossed intimidatingly, hip leaning against a starting block with the pool empty behind her—off the whiteboard in the women's locker room of the NTC. She crumpled it into a crinkled ball before throwing it against the back of the door; it fell to the wet tile floor where the glossy magazine page became footie fodder as Effy opened the door and kicked it back towards the blonde.

"Throw it out, and hurry up. They're waiting on you, you know."

Naomi stooped, picked up the picture, and frowned. "But you weren't waiting."

"No." Effy tapped her fingers along the strap of her swim bag, cascading from index down to pinky. "Your proclivity for dilly-dallying precludes me from ever waiting for you."

"That makes no sense whatsoever—and also marks about four thesaurus words in one sentence, which for you must be a record."

Effy's fingers halted. "It's February in Bath, Naomi. You couldn't pay me to wait outside for _anyone_."

The blonde smiled, kicked the picture back across the floor. "Right, no reason to feel special, then. Shall we?"

"Sure, but you're picking that up. I'm not touching your centerfold."

"It's not a bloody centerfold," Naomi griped for the fourth or fifth time since the SwimSwam article hit shelves; nevertheless, she crouched and snatched it up before exiting the locker room. It soon found a home in the bottom of a rubbish can in the hall.

* * *

"LADIES!"

Naomi winced as she followed Effy through the door of their dorm common space, Moose's wild exclamation clashing with the loud broadcast from the telly in the corner. He waved to them from the middle cushion of the sofa. "Saved you two seats next to yours truly."

In the corner, Emily rolled her eyes and patted the oversized lounge chair. Naomi gave their teammate an unconvinced smile and said, "Thanks, but I'm pretty sure there's a spot with my name on it already."

Moose glared over at Emily as Naomi picked her way to the corner chair; the younger Fitch twin smirked devilishly at Moose as Naomi curled around her. "Sorry, hun."

"I should have known," he groused. He turned his gaze back towards the door as the second new arrival slipped her trainers off. "One for two?"

Effy patted him on the shoulder as she padded past on stocking feet. "Maybe later. Don't fancy sitting around watching the inspirational training pieces before the Ceremonies." She disappeared into the bedroom and the door clicked behind her as the coverage of the Winter Olympics in Russia continued on the screen, the hosts narrating an inspirational story about one of their countrymates.

"Never was one for sentiment, Ef," Naomi mumbled into Emily's hair, eliciting a giggle.

"That tickles," she whispered, turning her head slightly to peck Naomi's cheek. "But, babes, you reek of chlorine. Go clean up, then come back out here to watch the Opening Ceremonies, 'kay?"

Naomi groaned and extricated herself from an all-too-brief moment with Emily. Once standing, she fixed Emily with pointed blue eyes. "Fine. But if I come back out here and am only able to sit next to Moose, I'm holding you personally accountable."

"Hey!"

"I'll make sure nothing of the sort happens," Emily promised with a wave of her hand. "Now, shoo."

* * *

Fifty-five minutes, one shower, and a plate of baked chicken, potatoes, and green beans later, Naomi nestled back into the oversized armchair with Emily; JJ and Moose sprawled across the couch, leaving the desk chair for Katie. On the screen, dozens of performers whirled and danced in a richly choreographed routine about Russian history as only a handful of audience members looked down from the stadium seating.

"Have you see all the pictures and videos from the athlete's village?" Katie asked as the announcers discussed some element of the performance. Naomi contorted her neck to look at the other twin and give a small shake of her head. Realizing she was the only one on the team actually following anything encroaching on popular culture, Katie groaned. "Christ, do a fucking Google search once in a while."

"Read a fucking book once in a while," Naomi retorted; the delicate elbow from Emily she received in response was worth it. "Sorry. What's wrong with the Village?"

"It's a proper war zone, innit? The buildings aren't done being constructed, there are bugs and rats like fucking everywhere, and athletes keep getting locked in their own rooms—or worse, in the loo. I swear, if London hadn't had their shit together in time for the Games, I'd've rather stayed in Bristol and just traveled every day. It's _horrid._ "

"They can't possibly be expecting world-class athletes to stay in a construction zone, Katie," Emily reasoned.

"Actually..." JJ interrupted, his finger tracing a course across the mousepad on his open laptop. He twisted the screen to show the room. "Katie is surprisingly not embellishing the deplorable state of the living quarters in Sochi."

"First Effy; now, JJ. Did everyone read the fucking thesaurus today?" Naomi said as she squinted at the screen. "Christ, is that a hole in the drywall from a snowboard?"

"Looks like," Moose mused. He nodded back towards the telly. "No wonder no one is in the stands; probably afraid they'll collapse."

JJ scratched at his unruly dusty brown hair. "That seems implausible; wouldn't a government such as theirs be far more worried about the poor visual message an empty stadium would send?"

"Bruv, you know I don't pay attention in that one class we have together—"

"Did you make him enroll in Post-Cold War Eastern European Politics, Jay?"

The team's statistician flushed crimson. "'Make' is a strong term, Naomi. I merely presented evidence of the ease with which Moose could achieve a quality mark in the class with minimal work, and he joined the class."

"Hold on," Katie interjected after swallowing a mouthful of edible vegetables— _God, living with people who are passable cooks is so underrated_ , she thought—and pointing at JJ. "I thought you were studying maths."

"I am," JJ blinked. "But statistically speaking, this was the most efficient elective I could take to receive a boost to my grade-point."

"Which I'm sure you calculated in about thirty seconds."

"Well—"

"She's exaggerating, Jay," Emily said softly. His mouth closed abruptly; his embarrassed nod soon gave way to tucking into his own plate. Emily glanced at the broadcast. "Oh, hey, they're starting with the Parade of Nations. Effy, the sappy stuff is over!"

Greece made their traditional entrance to the Opening Ceremony as the first country, acknowledging their status as the birthplace of the modern Games, followed by the participating countries in alphabetical order according to the host nation's language. Naomi and Emily simultaneously looked towards the bedroom as the door opened slowly; Effy poked her head out and assessed the room.

"Are we the next country?"

"No, not for a while, I don't think." Katie glanced back at her roommate. "Why?"

The door slammed shut.

"What's Ef's problem tonight?" Moose asked.

"Probably boys asking dumb questions in her dorm," Kate shot back. "She's allowed to spend however much time in her room as she wants, wanker."

Moose threw his hands up, clearly on the defensive at the elder Fitch's passionate defense. "Fuck me, sorry."

Katie made a disapproving noise, returned her attention to the Opening Ceremony. In the corner, Emily watched the exchange with interest, a frown ruining her dimples. While she couldn't deny that the four of them seemed closer since the heartbreak of the Duel in the Pool, this tension seemed a new development that threatened to slowly erode the positive bonds forged through that week-long crucible of emotional swimming in December.

"What was it like, marching in to London Stadium?" Naomi asked, hushed, as Belgium paraded past on screen.

Emily squirmed, her musing interrupted. She thought back to a warm July night under an azure sky; to the deafening crowd exalting as the host nation finally marched into the brand new stadium at the very end of the Parade of Nations; to the sight of the Union Jack waving majestically in front of them as they waved over and over at faceless admirers in the stands while filming everything on their mobiles. A lump formed in her throat, and Emily blindly fumbled for Naomi's hand.

"Where's your bloody..." She interlaced their fingers, pulled Naomi closer around her. Blinking, she focused on the telly as she whispered a response. "It was like being at a wedding, a birthday, and winning the lottery all at once while also being told you have 24 hours to live."

"That's...weirdly descriptive," Naomi whispered back, watching Bermuda parade by on screen. "Wait, what event could Bermuda possibly be competing in at the _Winter_ Olympics?!"

"Cross-country skiing, apparently," Katie deadpanned, pointing at the label displayed with the name of the flag bearer.

"Isn't that race longer than the island is wide? How do you even train for that?" Naomi maintained her running commentary as Bulgaria replaced the small island in the Parade.

Emily squeezed her hand. "Hush. I thought we were having a moment, there."

The blonde ducked her head, bumping Emily's. She mumbled an apology for being easily distracted into brown hair. Pulling back to adjust to a more comfortable position enveloping Emily, Naomi sighed. "I do want to know what it was like. And what you said made very little sense."

"It doesn't really make a lot of sense. Obviously, it was extra emotional being in London, you know? I'm sure it's incredible every time, but knowing that the crowd was really there for us; that we were hosting, yeah? Katie will swear she didn't cry, but that's a lie."

Naomi laughed quietly. "Noted. Why the whole thing about having only 24 hours to live? I thought the Opening Ceremonies are supposed to be a celebration?"

"They are. Truly. The Closing Ceremonies have way less stress because no one is thinking about their events or expectations...but it also has a bittersweet quality to it. On the other hand, I tried to enjoy the Opening Ceremony, but thoughts about living up to the expectations put on us wouldn't go away. I kept worrying about the 100 and the relay and it was painfully clear the hopes of all these people cheering were on my shoulders." Emily peered back at Naomi. "They wrote glowing magazine articles about Katie and I too, you know."

The taller young woman stiffened immediately. "I didn't say anything about the article."

"You didn't need to. I've been in the locker room too, you know. I know the other girls—"

"HEY! Ef, we're on!" Moose shouted unnecessarily as Macedonia marched their way around and the camera panned back to their countrymen and women making an eager entrance to the stadium in Sochi. The Union Jack waved lightly in what Naomi could only project as a cold breeze, the breath of each athlete puffy little clouds against the artificial prime time brightness of the stadium. Effy's door creaked as she opened it, materializing from the dimly light bedroom barefoot to pad across and sit as far from Moose as she could while remaining on the sofa.

"Katie, I'm buying one of those hats for you as a late Christmas present," Effy commented as the gaggle of athletes entered clad in heavy midnight blue jackets lined with a maroon accented collar and an ushanka nestled on each person's head.

"You couldn't catch me dead wearing one of those hideous fur things. Save me the trouble and just dump it on Emily directly."

"If one of those appears on my dresser next week, I will not complain," Emily mused. "I'd wear that every day this winter."

"And look ridiculously cute doing so," Naomi whispered in her ear, eliciting a quick kiss in return; Katie made a point of rolling her eyes.

"Ugh, really? Forget Effy said anything."

"Nope, furry Russian hats for the entire team. Goes well with our parkas." Naomi gave Effy a thumbs-up; a smirk travelled back to the corner chair in response.

"Jenkins and I are up for, ain't we?" Moose elbowed his friend in the arm, nodding towards the telly. "I'll even wear it in Doha."

"It's going to be, like, fifty fucking Celsius, arse," derided Katie, still sore. "And that's ten months away. It won't be that funny anymore."

The common room fell silent, Katie's bitter diatribe quashing the good-natured banter. Effy leaned back, letting her head loll lazily along the cushion to look at Katie with an inquisitive glint to her eyes. "Fine, no hats. Anything else you want to argue about, or are my viewing habits, our Winter team's fashion, the weather in Qatar, and JJ's class schedule enough for one night?"

"No, I—what?!"

"Since your problem is really with the SwimSwam article, maybe you just want to air your grievances while we're all together?" Effy turned a palm up, delicate fingers curling slightly upwards, as if she expected a light drizzle to descend from the plastered ceiling. Naomi ungracefully sat up straight, forcing a grumbling sour-faced Emily to mirror her movements until they were squished shoulder-to-shoulder on the oversized chair.

The blonde glared at her girlfriend's near-doppelganger. "What's Effy on about, Katie?"

Katie opened her mouth, ready to protest—and promptly smushed her lips shut. She shook her head, angry breaths shooting out of her nose. After unsuccessful attempts using her glare to transmute each young woman into dust, the older Fitcher twin groaned aloud. "Do we really have to do this now?"

"Well, you've clearly not done it all week while we were practicing together and doing drylands together and getting ready together," Naomi groused. "Should probably do it now, yeah?"

"I think I'll decide when and when not to express my own opinions, thanks."

"Not when they directly affect those you live with, you don't. It's not like we have anything else going on..."

"We're just...gonna leave...?" Moose made a half-hearted jerk of his thumb towards the door. A silent beat in which none of the four ladies responded cued him to nudge JJ and head for their own rooms. The door clicked shut behind them; the silence persisted.

Effy stood, a ghost in the phantom steps left by their recently departed teammates as she entered the small kitchenette to pour herself a drink far heavier on the vodka than the water. On her way back to the couch she locked the door's deadbolt. "Just us girls now. Speak."

"What do you want me to say?" Katie exclaimed, looking incredulous. "It's not an article about me. I haven't done anything—I'm not the one putting those pictures up every day even when Naomi takes them down."

"So you have absolutely no opinion on what Jal wrote?" Emily asked, her skeptical tone biting at her sister's prickly opening comments. "It may not be about you, Kay, but she talks about your roommate who, oh yeah, also happens to be dating your twin sister...so that means it's about me too. And Effy gets a cameo because they swam together when they were younger. So now it's a story about every person in this room, not just Naomi."

"You're not jealous, are you, Katie? I didn't ask for this; I didn't go looking for the publicity." Naomi leaned forward, concern and empathy battling irritation for dominance in her voice.

"Me? Jealous?!"

"She's just trying to understand." Emily began ticking items off finger by finger. "Clearly you're on tenterhooks, Naomi's just been thrust into a spotlight that also shines on us, not always positively or in ways we would probably want, and our unerringly perceptive friend called you out for letting your frustration simmer and make things worse."

"Now you have the thesaurus bug, too?"

"Not helping, Nai," Effy said as she raised her drink for a quick sip.

"Sorry," she mumbled. Emily acknowledged it, laying a hand on Naomi's knee. The blonde returned her attention to Katie. "If there's something in there that you didn't want public, I'm sorry, Katie. I wasn't trying to, like, stab you in the back or something."

"What the fuck, you didn't...I don't have any, like, secrets or anything that are now all over Twitter or whateva. I'm not angry, I swear."

"I'd quote Shakespeare at you, but it'd go unappreciated. And apparently my quips aren't helping, according to Effy."

"I do not protest too much!"

"Oh sure, that one you know," Emily chided. Her demeanor steeled. "Just so we're clear, dear sister. You're completely fine with Jal writing about the politics of Naomi being left off the Olympic team?"

Katie blinked, chewed her lip.

"And you're fine with her writing about her rivalry with Effy when they were younger?"

Katie shrugged, eyes tracking towards an interminable point on the ceiling. Effy and Naomi exchanged a verbose blue-on-blue glance.

"Fine with Coach Darrick being quoted as saying she presents the missing piece to our medaling chances in the relays at Rio?"

Katie squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head as if to ward off Emily's insistent tones.

"And you were cool with her citing me as her girlfriend at the end of the article?"

"FUCK OFF!" Katie leveraged herself out of the chair and stormed into the room previously vacated by Effy; the door slammed shut behind her, but couldn't soundproof the common area from her tears.

Emily rose as the door latched shut, following Katie's footsteps. She knocked urgently, cracked the door several centimeters. "Katie..."

"Not right now, Emily."

"Can we please talk about this?" she pleaded, staring at Effy's poker face.

Quietly from deep in the room, her sister remained resolute. "Go away."

The younger twin shook her head. "We live together; I'm not going very far."

Katie's retort came just inside the door. "Well, go as far as you can." She pushed the door shut, sealing Emily off.

"I shouldn't have done it," Naomi said softly, making her own exit from the common area; Emily shuffled, dazed, around the sofa and collapsed next to Effy. Without fully processing anything her eyes transmitted to her brain, she watched the Norwegians finish their procession into the stadium and the Pakistani contingent begin theirs.

"How do I fix this, Ef?"

The taller brunette turned, a quizzical eyebrow raised. " _You_ don't fix anything here. There's nothing to fix."

Emily leaned forward, frowning. "What d'you mean, 'nothing to fix?' Katie's in tears over an interview my girlfriend gave, Naomi's regretting it every day, and my mum won't speak to either of us after the Duel and the article came out."

Effy finished off her drink, placed it on top a copy of the offending magazine resting on the coffee table. As she rose, she patted Emily's knee. "Mountains or molehills; your choice."

"Nothing with Katie is ever a molehill," Emily grumbled. She clicked off the Opening Ceremony, the feed sucked together from full-screen into a thin strip of brightness before getting swallowed by the silent black powered off screen.

* * *

The train station teemed with students fleeing the city for their well-earned Easter holiday, black-and-whites honking in irritation at the young people dashing between cars as they crossed the street and made for the green overhang that provided protection from the late April rains. Inside the station, a steady stream of backpack-bearing teens and young adults jostled in either direction, maneuvering towards their intended platform as the next train east slowly eased into the station. One group of students remained remarkably intact, weaving around single travelers buried in their mobiles, three of the seven carrying identical Great Britain Olympic team swim bags; the other four with matching white British National Team bags. All seven, however, carried identical tickets to Paddington station in London.

The train came to a halt, its doors hissing open amidst the clamor of air brakes and rain pummelling the glass awning above the platforms. The seven swimmers crowded into a passenger car, darting aggressively to claim pairs of seats together where they could: Naomi and Emily near the middle of the car; JJ and Moose in the seats right behind them; Effy gracefully easing into the window seat across from the blonde and her brunette. Zelda collapsed into the seat next to the backstroker, eyes closed.

"What the fuck?! Move," hissed Katie, realizing that she'd ended up the odd one out.

"You can always sit on my lap, luv," Moose suggested; she flicked him off, pairing the gesture with a withering glare. He shrugged. "Never mind, then."

Barely containing a shriek of frustration, Katie stomped past them to the front of the car and found an aisle seat empty next to a window seat occupied not by a person, but a battered, green rucksack. A black windbreaker lay draped across the ruck, highlighter yellow and red splotches and a blue hood nearly inducing a gag reflex from the fashion-conscious twin. Dropping her purse in the empty seat, she mashed her swim bag onto the metal luggage rack over the seats. "C'mon, fucking...fit you piece of—"

A pair of large hands joined hers in pressing the swim bag into place, securing it for the trip. "There. Better, yes?" She turned around as a young man smiled toothily at her. He sheepishly nodded at the seats. "Excuse me."

"Oh," she glanced between the rucksack and the boy. "Uh, right, sorry..." The train lurched forward, and they took their seats in an awkward silence. "This seat wasn't taken, was it?"

He shook his head as if to dispel the uncomfortable atmosphere with his earnestness. "No, not at all. I am travelling by myself. To London, for the holiday. And to train."

Katie glanced back at the others, torn between being polite to this complete stranger, and wanting to ignore him and wallow in her irritation at being the odd man out. Resigned, she turned back to him. Affecting a disinterested air, she replied, "Yeah? For what?"

"The Olympics. I run fast, like a dog." He cocked his head towards the overhead, her swim bag. "You are an athlete too?"

"Uh, yeah. Swimmer." Rolling her eyes, she raised her hand between their seats. "Katie Fitch."

His smile widened, taking her hand in his and pumping it vigorously. "Hello, Katie! My name is Thomas, so glad to meet you."


	21. Oh No, Please God Tell Me We're Dreaming

**A/N:** A promise is a promise...this weekend it is! I'm tired and have been writing all day...but **mswitsend** , I will send you details this week, also as promised. Same goes for **Marsupial**...and **Irma**? Travel safe. I'd also like to apologize to **FragrantLily** , who I'm pretty sure didn't have nearly three months in mind when asking for more frequent updates. Oops? I'll try and do better, I swear. And a shout out to **Heartsnevermend** ; I'm not sure if you're new to the fandom or not, or if you're reading this story too, but I'm so glad you enjoyed TUC! Speaking of shout outs... **dammit naomily** , where's that second story at?! Looking forward to it! Whoever reviews first will have the high honor of being my first triple-digit review on a single story, and even though most of the writers I just name-dropped reached that, like, AGES ago...I can't fully express how much it means that there's still people reading out there, so thank you. Thank you so much. And if you ask me anything in your review (whether you're number 100 or 103 or whatever on this chapter), I'll answer it. *I may really regret this...

Without further ado...I don't own 'Skins.'

* * *

Naomi craned her neck around the row of seats in front of her. "Who'd you reckon he is?"

"Will you just, Christ c'mere," growled Emily as she tugged Naomi in for a chaste kiss. "After the way my sister's acted around you recently, why are you so concerned with whom she sits on a train?"

"Because any fodder for getting under her skin is good fodder."

The younger brunette twin groaned. "You two are like primary school children, I fucking swear."

"Ah, come on, you know you love it." Internally, Naomi added a rushed _'Shit.'_

Emily froze just long enough for Naomi to notice the discomfort; she blinked and nibbled at her thumbnail. "I often find your wit of the highest quality, yes. Your penchant for needing to one up my sister's insults...surprisingly not my favorite trait of yours."

Naomi laughed awkwardly, attempted to steer the conversation back on stable ground. "And what would some of those be, then?"

As she slipped white buds into her ears and began scrolling through her phone's music library, Emily snorted. "I'll think about it and get back to you. Gives me something to think about on those long sets."

The blonde laughed, thumbed open her novel. "Alright, have it your way, Fitch."

A slight smirk and a whisper accompanied her picking an album (Bastille's fresh debut Bad Blood) to pass the time to London: "I will."

Katie shriek-laughed in protest, pulling the large round headphone away from her ear and throwing it at her row-mate.. "Abso-fucking-lutely no! That's pure shit, that."

"I'm actually quite proud of it, when I can fit it into a set." Thomas picked up the expensive set and offered it back to her. "If you had been dancing for a couple hours, would you really pay attention to the words, or would it just be the beat that matters?"

The older Fitch sibling pressed the headphone to her ear, nodding her head slowly. "It _does_ have a hot beat. And how do you know I even go clubbing? Maybe I just stay in and swim and study?"

The young man—Thomas, he'd introduced himself as upon the train's departure from Bath—flashed a toothy smile at her coy protests. "I know when someone has the dance inside of them. You, Katie Fitch, are very much a dancer...and probably quite good, I imagine."

"The type you can't take your eyes off," she insisted with a wink. Genuinely curious, she shook her head. "I don't get it. If you're such a good DJ, why run?"

"Because I run very fast. So fast. Like—"

"—A dog. Yeah, you said that like, five fucking times, uh, Thomas?"

"Yes, that is my name. And you're Katie. A very pretty name; it suits you."

The train eased underneath the glass dome ceilings of Paddington Station, slowing to a stop with a slight jolt. She handed back the glossy white headphones. "You know you don't have to always turn every sentence into a compliment, right? I mean, like, I'm not complaining, but most people aren't so openly honest."

Thomas's brow creased as he wrapped the headphones around his neck and stood up. "Have I given you a reason to think I'm not honest?"

"No! No, just...it's not something I'm used to." Katie glanced along the aisle of the train car, watching her sister and teammates plucking swim bags from the cramped overhead storage rack or out of their seats, slinging them over one shoulder at a time. She pushed her way off the train, aware that Thomas followed her trailblazed path through the hesitant crowd lingering on the platform. "Are you planning on follow me, or...?"

"Yes, of course. I mean, no, I..." Thomas shrugged. "I wanted to make sure I could invite you to my shows; I am playing somewhere every night this week and—"

"KATIEKINS!" Cooks' euphoric greeting pierced the steady background buzz of the packed Paddington platform as he made his way forward and hugged her. "Our train got in, like, fifteen minutes early, so 'course Freds decided to get a nap in 'fore yous all arrived."

Katie and Thomas both stared, miffed, along the vector suggested by Cook's outstretched finger. Between the sea of travelers, they spied Freddie sprawled out on a bench, his swim bag substituting for a pillow.

"Is he comfortable like that?"

"I have slept in worse places. In the Congo, where I was born, we slept on the ground before we moved into the city."

"Who the fuck're you, mate?"

The hand shot out immediately. "So sorry. My name is Thomas; so good to meet you."

"Right..." Cook said with confusion.

"He's, like, a really famous DJ and was just about to invite us to, like, all the best clubs, weren't you?" Katie supplied helpfully, eyes widened pointedly.

Thomas blinked, rapidly remembering their conversation. "Oh, yes, of course! Any of Katie's friends are my friends too. And my friends never stand in the lines, yes? Or pay cover."

"Tip-fucking-top! Cheers, mate." Cook clapped him on the back before he caught sight of the rest of the team and his attention shifted. "Ef, Muff Monkeys!"

Katie elbowed him in the side, whispering, "Fuck, have some discretion," but he bounded away to embrace them. She felt something slide into the back pocket of her jeans and whirled around, her hand snatching the small card out. Katie smiled faintly at Thomas's handwritten business card complete with mobile number, and finally found the back of his head bobbing through the crowd, headphones clamped in place as a beat transported him out of the station.

* * *

"Can you get sports PTSD?" Cook asked pointedly, standing on the knubby pool deck and staring across the still teal of the Aquatics Centre pool.

At his left shoulder, JJ shook his head. The rest of their teammates trod past, flip-flops smacking obnoxiously in the cavernous space. On Cook's right, Freddie gazed pensively towards the rafters. He whispered just loud enough for the other two to hear, "Anything's possible."

"Well, statistically that is highly inaccurate; not _everything_ is possible. But it is improbable that the act of practicing in the same pool where they were disqualified two years ago would have a tangible, detrimental effect on their performance. It is actually more likely that the memory motivates them to work harder."

Cook pointed towards the figure walking out of a door on the opposite side of the pool: their coach emerging from the small area converted into coaches offices. "And how does that factor into the equation?"

JJ paused, shaking slightly despite not having to get in the water himself. Freddie answered for him. "We're so fucked."

Darrick strode confidently along the pool deck, a warm grin partly shrouded by his curly beard, clutching a pile of papers in his hands. A simple graphic t-shirt and jeans never looked so threatening. An unsettled ripple of whispers coursed through the assembled team as they stretched behind their respective lanes of the pool. "Good morning, children."

"Darrick, mate—

"Or Coach, you know, for the rest of us who understand proper team relationship dynamics," snarked Naomi as she adjusted her swim cap.

Cook pointed in her direction, mockingly grateful for the correction. "Right, Coach, you do know we're all adults, yeah? Or nearly so."

Their coach paused, slowly turning in a circle between lanes five and six as he handed out the sheets delineating the practice sets. Fifty-seven faces stared back at him; Emily did not, engrossed in the practice.

"You're right, Cook—"

"There's a first," Katie muttered as Cook preened.

Darrick handed out the practice to the final couple lanes and leaned on the metal rails of the pool ladder"—you're all semi-responsible young adults and extremely talented teen swimming prodigies, which naturally means I'm expectin' a lot of complaining to drown out anything I say starting...now."

"You mean, complaining about how you're wearing your Tennessee shirt ON THE FIRST DAY OF THE SPRING TRAINING TRIP?!" Katie ripped the practice out of Zelda's hands and waved it at him. "Should I even bother reading it, or, like, just roll over and die now?"

"On the plus side, it's not Joe." Naomi chimed in from lane 2, referencing a previous brutal practice during which Darrick first unveiled the Tennessee shirt, as she pressed the paper to a kickboard and dunked it in the water to adhere the paper to the board, smoothing out wrinkles as she did. "But, Coach, the first day, really?"

Darrick's warm smile evolved into something a bit more maniacal. "Too much fun! Let's go. In the water, children. Practice started exactly one minute ago, so we're already behind. We'll need all three hours to get through this. Oh, and Katie? Your 'best stroke' on sets today had better be butterfly."

"Fucking hell," she groused, tugging goggles in place and jumping in both feet first.

Seventy-three minutes later, Effy coasted into the wall of lane four, laconically drifting towards the lane line so that one of their teammates could execute a flip turn and finish the set after being lapped by both Effy and Naomi, who leaned against the red-and-blue plastic discs of the lane line as she squinted at the practice board in her hand. Effy peered down at the sheet.

"Rainbow set, lovely."

"Do you really not read ahead in the practice, ever?"

Effy frowned. "I can't swim multiple sets at once. Why stress about something I can't do yet?"

Naomi let the kickboard float in the lane, reaching instead for a bottle of water. After a quick swallow, she shrugged. "Because you can be more efficient with effort in the other sets."

Her teammate and childhood friend upturned a palm. "A good coach builds a practice so that we don't have to think like that."

"Thank you for that coaching theory lesson, Elizabeth," Naomi said dryly. She placed the kickboard back on the deck. "But we will need to think on this set."

"And swim fast," Coach Mercer provided, towering over the pool. He handed down a laminated table streaked with colors, moving from lane to lane distributing them. After providing the chart to the entire team, he introduced the set. "Yes, I'm wearing the shirt today. No, I'm not sorry. It's main set time. You all have a pace chart in front of you; that first column is your threshold, alright? What can you maintain over and over—that is also your red. Blue and purple then build off of that."

"And if we're colorblind?" Cook joked in poor taste.

"You could always just quit now," Emily said cheerfully.

"If it's easier, think about each color in percentages," Darrick intoned, pacing back and forth. He used his hand to show in the air a hypothetical spectrum of effort. "Red is 90%; blue, 95; and purple, 100% effort. 90% is hard but shouldn't hurt unless you do it over and over. 95% is close but not quite all out, and should hurt."

The coach paused for effect, stared at Cook. "100% should kill you."

"This is going to suck up the _arse_ ," Katie whispered to her twin as they peered up at the practice sheet on a kickboard wedged into the bars under their lane's starting block. She pointed at the set:

4x200 free red on 2:25

Rest :30

2/4/6/8x100 free blue on 1:20

Rest :30

1x100 free purple on 1:45

Rest 1:00 between rounds

"Well," Emily attempted to downplay the extreme difficulty of the main set in their practice. "At least we only have to die four times in the set."

"I'm not Catwoman, Ems," Katie protested through gritted teeth as her sister began laughing uncontrollably. "I don't have nine lives. Besides, how are we supposed to party properly in London if our practices are like this every day?"

"We leave on the top," Darrick called out, pointing at the digital clock as it counted off the seconds; twenty-one, twenty-two...around towards the top of the minute. "If you all can't move or get in trouble this evening, I'll feel like I did my job today."

Katie Fitch pressed her goggles into her eye sockets as the clock approached double zero. "He and I have very different understandings of what his job is."

And so they began.

* * *

"And so..." Emily leaned against the shower tile for support as her core tightened in pain from a mixture of laughing and the rigors of their first training trip practice. In the corner, Katie stood under a stream of hot water, petulant, with arms crossed; elsewhere, the other members of the women's team continued their post-practice routines patiently waiting for Emily to finish her story. "So she goes, 'I'm not Catwoman...I don't have nine lives.'"

Peals of laughter echoed around the locker room much to Katie's vehement protests as the tension and exhaustion from the practice abated for a few moments. Naomi mockingly thanked her for the ridiculous comment; Effy's lips threatened a smile at the corners; Zelda wiped tears away from laughing so hard.

"And then she absolutely destroyed the set," concluded Emily. "So, dear sister, in honor of being both the practice 'winner' today, not to mention being insufferable when we don't let you set our social calendars, where are we headed tonight?"

The older of the two Fitches grinned. "I have a couple ideas."

* * *

"She's going to be a hellion when she gets to uni," Naomi commented astutely, watching their younger teammate interact with two of their male peers from City, University of London's crew team near the bar. The majority of the National Team reclined around a table along one wall of the club, multiple bottles and empty classes littering the smooth surface.

"I'd like to think I've rubbed off on Zelda," Katie said proudly.

"I'd like ta think—"

"Don't." Freddie interrupted Cook before he could suggest something suitably crass about his teammates.

"I'm just saying...they're both fit and if Katiekins wanted to dabble, I'd encourage it."

"Tosser. I don't dabble." She appraised the two guys again and made to slide out of the booth. "I go in for the kill."

"Yeah, you go get the taller one, Catwoman," Naomi chirped after her; Katie whirled, giving her the finger.

"I don't want to hear it, Campbell."

"What about your new boyfriend?" Effy asked innocently. "From the train?"

Katie faltered, eyes glancing down and away from her friend. Her hesitant doubt lasted only long enough for the beat to drop on the new Iggy Azalea single. "We're not married or anything. It's not like they'd write, like, a magazine article about our torrid romance. I can have fun tonight and still pull Thursday at his gig."

"Her stamina in trying to get in boys' pants is exhausting," Naomi avered, frowning in frustration at her snide comment about the article published earlier in the year highlighting she and Emily's relationship..

Cook started laughing gleefully, oblivious of the tension; in unison, the rest of the team mimicked Freddie: "Don't."

* * *

On Tuesday, Darrick appeared on deck wearing a white Polo and a subdued grey ballcap emblazoned with a distinct orange 'T'; a withering hour-long kick set followed. Wednesday, brought a pair of creamsicle checkerboard trousers to the Aquatics Centre and an individual medley main set, which sent Zelda, Cook, and Katie across the pool deck to puke in a rubbish bin. Throughout the week, an afternoon weight room session concluded the day's training before Coach Mercer released them to enjoy exploring London; however, after Monday's excursion, that exploration each night consisted of a group effort to find the nearest comfortable bed or sofa upon which to collapse, exhausted.

Emily awoke Thursday morning nestled comfortably next to Naomi, though the comfort lasted just long enough to seem like a torment instead of a relief. The blonde squirmed again, eyes still squeezed shut in the throes of a dream, her elbow pressing into Emily's back. Goosebumps erupted on Emily's neck as a desperate, incomprehensible words spilled out of Naomi.

Dreaming-Naomi seemed to sob, and without warning the words became far too coherent. "Why won't you say it?!"

Bolting out of the bed, Emily threw off the sheets and fled into the loo, slamming the door; Naomi awoke with a start alone in bed. Peering around the morning grey of the hotel room, she heard the shower head activate and resolved the mystery of her disappearing bunkmate. The blonde's eyebrows drew together; her shaking hand brushed across her hairline. It came away wet with perspiration and the fretful dreams of her night bubbled back into her consciousness. Naomi let her body fall back against the too-hard mattress and pulled the sheets over her head. Cocooned from the sounds of the shower and the voices of her nightmare alike, she swore urgently. "Shit, shit, shit."

* * *

"So, trouble in paradise?" Effy asked nonchalantly as the team stretched behind the starting blocks, goggles and swim caps dangling from their hands, or resting on the mesh equipment bags at their feet.

Staring across the expanse of the pool, Emily pulled her hair into a messy bun. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Hmmm. Suit yourself."

Hazarding a peek at where Naomi and Zelda were helping each other put on their swim caps, Emily worried her lip in silence. She turned to find Effy staring at her knowingly. "It's nothing!"

Before Effy could eviscerate her evasive protest, their coach stepped out of the offices. The entire team fell silent as he got closer. Murmurs spread from swimmer to swimmer. "Thank fuck."

"He's not wearing anything orange today."

"'Bout fucking time he gave us a reasonable practice."

"Good morning, team!" Darrick wove through the group, glad in jeans and a white National Centre for Swimming quarter zip, placing practice sheets on each starting block face down. "You're going to need your whole bag today. Yes, Naomi, even trainers."

"Why'd he have to single me out?! We all hate trainer sets. Shoes do not belong _in_ the water."

"Too right," Zelda agreed. She raised her voice, imitating Naomi's frequent protest regarding one of their coaches signature practice elements: having to swim with a pair of ratty trainers on; their added waterlogged weight made fast kicking nearly impossible. "It's cruel and unusual punishment, Coach. Mafia tactics."

Coach Mercer laughed. "And what would you know of mafia tactics, Zee?"

"Intimidation, harassing innocent people, insisting on bribes and tribute payments. Like, basically the entirety of _Snatch_."

"Hey!" Cook punched Freddie in the shoulder, thickening his accent. "If I win, I want a caravan."

"A caravan?" Freddie replied in the same tone."

"Aye, a fuckin' caravan for me degs."

"You had to mention _Snatch_ ," Naomi bemoaned, pressing her hand to her forehead.

Before permanently losing the attention of the team, their coach pursed his lips and sent a piercing whistle through the natatorium. The good-natured (at least on Freddie and Cook's part) quoting of Guy Ritchie movies petered out as Darrick shook his head. "Let's warm up. Why are y'all in such a good mood?"

"'Cause you're not wearing that ghastly orange today," Katie said with disdain.

"You mean, this orange?" The coach tugged his sweater over his head revealing the hated Tennessee shirt. A chorus of groans and expletives floated over the water. Laughing, Coach Mercer pointed at the pool. "Ah, too easy. C'mon, warm up folks. You'll need it."

* * *

Twelve hours later, Emily stood in front of a mirror in her sister's hotel room tugging at a matte black skirt, bottom lip twisted between her teeth. "You're sure?"

From the loo, while touching up her eyeliner, Katie responded. "Positive, Ems. On fucking fire. Why'd want to look so good tonight anyway? You don't have to try; Naomi's coming back with you, whether you're looking almost as fit as me, or whether you wore sweats and flip-flops. Me, on the other, hand, I have someone to impress."

"Seeing as Effy's liable to end up in our room so you can shag this Thomas guy, maybe it doesn't matter how my night ends, but I have my reasons."

"What's going on between you two, anyways? I don't have to kick her in the arse, do I?"

Emily chuckled while teasing her hair. "No, you don't need to..." She trailed off, frowning at her reflection. Softly, unsure, she asked, "Katie, have you ever told a guy...and meant it? Not just to get him in bed?"

Her twin's head popped into the well-appointed hotel room. "Told a guy what?"

* * *

"I mean, it's not like we've just met, yeah? It's been over a year, for Christ's sake. And I know that we haven't exactly been serious that entire time, but...am I imagining things?"

Next door, Effy shrugged while toying with the plethora of bracelets on her left wrist.

"It's just...I'm not the kind to commit to something immediately, you know that." Effy looked up in disdain. Naomi rolled her eyes, sat on the edge of the bed clenching her shirt in both hands. "Okay, I never commit to anything. But this is different, isn't it? Fuck's sake, the team has a word for us like we're a celebrity couple in Katie's Twitter feed. So why wouldn't she? You don't think..."

Effy appraised Naomi silently.

"You don't think she's waiting for me to say it first, do you?"

* * *

"Is that too much to ask?"

Katie snorted, returned to applying lip gloss. She pressed her lips together, evaluated her makeup in the massive mirror. "Of course expecting it to come from Naomi is asking too much! Let me ask you something, Emily: What did it take to make her even be open to kissing you in the first place?"

"The irresistible Fitch charms?" Emily made eye contact in the mirror; Katie scoffed predictably.

"It took gallons of the world's most alcoholic juice and—"

"It wasn't fucking _gallons_ ," protested Emily. She shook her head. "What's your point, Katie?"

"My point is, even if Naomi knows what she wants...maybe she doesn't know how to show she knows what she wants."

* * *

"You're not making much sense, you know," Naomi complained as she adorned herself with a pair of silver earrings. Effy, invisible in the narrow closet as she selected a suitably provocative shirt-dress for the evening, responded with a silent raise of her eyebrows. The blonde continued her monologue, "But I think you're trying to preach patience, and we both know that's, like, the very last of the virtues I may possess in any capacity."

Effy strolled back into the hotel room proper.

"I shouldn't even have to say it, should I? Ultimately, that's the point, right? She should just... _know_."

"Naomi, if people just...'knew,' we'd have solved love a long time ago."

* * *

Blue and purple lights dazzled, spinning and whirling through the club as nozzles shot fog into the air and bass drops rattled teeth, vibrated nerves. Foregoing a table this night, a group of swimmers dominated the center of the dance floor nearest the DJ's booth, most of the team, at least. Emily peered up through the lights and smoke towards where Zelda and Katie were dancing hypnotically on either side of the boy from the train—Thomas—spun an eclectic but infectious blend of house, dancehall, and Afrobeat tracks with a smattering of immediately recognizable earworms. Her sister swayed closer to her new acquaintance, distracting him from the turntable.

Lowering her gaze, Emily realized she too had an admirer. Naomi stared hungrily towards the twin from across the impromptu dance circle. _Katie does pick out a killer club outfit_ , Emily admitted to herself, but her quick thoughts disappeared as someone nudged her into the middle of the circle. Effy waggled her eyebrows, amused at her own efforts; a second's hesitation on Emily's part, and she embraced the beat. She slowly spun, gyrated, and swayed her way closer and closer to Naomi, noting a heavy swallow before pressing against the blonde just as the song changed and one of their male teammates jokingly replaced Emily in the circle. The brunette girl snaked a hand around Naomi's neck, leaning back to press lips to neck just below her ear. Opposite, Effy sipped a vodka water through the tiny stirring straw, watching the exchange as Naomi and Emily kissed briefly, though with extreme urgency, and danced together.

After another couple songs (and a near-nauseating view of her sister using the turntables as leverage to grind against the DJ's crotch), Emily spun in Naomi's arms. She slipped her leg between Naomi's and drew them even closer; she took a fistful of the taller girl's shirt and tugged her down into a fierce kiss. Emily broke it after several cat-calls, lingering millimeters from Naomi's lips. Her brown eyes found blue counterparts nearly midnight-hued with desire.

"Naomi...there's something I need to tell you..."

The blonde, four drinks deep, felt the haze of music, drinks, and dancing shatter in Emily's halting words, broken in a thousand pieces by an irrational panic. "Em..."

"Naoms, I..I.."

"I have to get out of here," Naomi interrupted, turning away in shame, pressing through the crowd towards the exit.

"What the fuck!" Emily shouted, her voice drowned by the music and swelling tears as Naomi disappeared. The younger Fitch twin turned back to Effy, desperate for help, but found an equally disappointed look in her friend's eyes. Effy nodded her head towards the back of the club; Emily nodded in agreement and tried following in Naomi's retreating footsteps.

Crashing into the silence of the night as the door opened to Thursday night London, Emily whirled around in the street. At the nearest corner, she saw Naomi approaching an Uber and nearly sobbed. Regaining her voice, she shouted along the queue, "Naomi! You fucking...stop right there!"

The blonde looked up, one hand on the door handle, eyes shining with tears. "I can't."

"NAOMI! Don't..."

"I have to get out of here." Naomi opened the door and slipped into the sedan; it pulled away with red tail lights blurring in Emily's swimming vision; she started running after the car, drunk and in heels. Six steps later, Emily felt her foot catch on a crack in the asphalt, and the world tumbled around her, ground rushing towards her face far too quickly.

The door again shattered the night with pulsing music escaping alongside Katie, Effy, and Thomas—his turntable abandoned when the older Fitch twin made, without warning, a sudden movement for the exit. The trio ran to assist Emily in sitting on the kerb, her sister hugging her tightly.

"Where'd she go? I'll fucking kill her."

Sniffling, Emily shook her head. "No, Katie. She's gone." Gingerly, she touched a ruby red scrape on her knee. "And that hurts like a bitch."

Effy took a seat on Emily's opposite side, leaving Thomas to awkwardly stand in front of them. He glanced down the street. "You know, I can run after her. I run very fast."

"S'alright, thanks though. She's just scared." Turning to Effy, Emily sought confirmation as a fresh bout of sobs rose in her chest. "Right?"

The lithe girl wrapped her arms around both sisters and pulled them into a group hug, rocking Emily back and forth as the queue, filing diligently into the club, ignored them completely.

* * *

 _"I am trying to say it! You won't listen! I lo_ —" The landing jolted Naomi awake from the routinely heartbreaking dream, vibrations from the impact of tires on runway shaking the fuselage of the airplane underneath the pillow wedged between seat and window. Squinting one eye open, she appraised the other passengers in her row: on the aisle, Kieran sat, arms crossed, staring intently at the seatback in front of him, reciting a simple plea: "Don't fucking crash; don't fucking crash."

The passenger separating Naomi from the Irishman peering out the small window into the nighttime lit like a heretical Christmas tree with runway lights and the city skyline in the distance. She noticed Naomi's uncomfortable waking and smiled warmly.

"Good evening, dear. Feeling well-rested and refreshed?"

"Not quite, Mum." Naomi shifted in her seat, clutching the pillow to her lap as she followed her mother's gaze into the desert island night. "So this is Doha?"

"In all its shiny, shimmering humid splendor," Gina confirmed. She paused a beat, then drove directly to the point. "Are you ready to see her again?

 _You've been avoiding her on a university campus for months; what part of you thinks it's smart to fly halfway around the world to be in close proximity to her?_ Naomi worried her lip as the plane transited to the terminal. She focused on the blinking red aircraft warning lights on the spires of skyscrapers in the distance. "I can't run forever."


	22. 20-20 Don't Come Free to Everybody

**A/N:** I really need to stop promising quick updates. I apologize once again; a two-year long project at work finally culminated this past week so I've been a bit distracted. But here we are! Yes, there was a bit of a time jump at the end of the last chapter (April/Mayish to December). And we've finally arrived at the meet I've been most looking forward to writing about...not that there'll be much if any swimming. No, I finally get to write about a city I've actually explored: Doha. Shout outs are in order to the usual suspects. Not sure when my next update will be, but I will finish this! Promise.

Don't own 'Skins.'

* * *

The blonde woman fiddled with a tall Collins glass filled with a freshly green non-alcoholic drink, swirling the straw around and around as she waited in the hotel bar. The bartender, a Third Country National—the region's short-hand for temporary workers, usually from South or Southeast Asia—garbed in the hotel chain's uniform, dried an empty water glass while neglecting the woman and the one other patron at the opposite end of the bar. A dozen other hotel guests occupied comfortable chairs beneath the lattice-work partitions rising up towards the glass ceiling; a single waiter drifted from table to table. The blonde woman took another sip of her drink, ears attuned to two sets of footfalls crossing the polished tile of the Intercontinental The City Al Jalsa Garden Lounge, but she heard her husband's distinct voice first.

"...tryin' ta pull the wool over my eyes, but I'm not havin' none of it."

"I think you're givin' 'em a bit too much credit, Kieran," replied a second voice with an altogether different accent. "It's not like the rule is specifically targeting any of our swimmers."

"Aye, s'pose that's true, but it don't make it any easier a pill ta swallow; Cookie and the louder twin always make up a good two-tenths with it."

Gina shook her head, projected her voice. "She has a name, you know: Katie."

"I know!" protested Kieran as he took the seat to her left, leaving Darrick to fill in on her right. The Irishman continued, "Am I wrong in that characterization? I think not."

"Not the point, dear. They're individual people, every one of them."

"Don't I know it," Coach Mercer assented as his eyes scanned the line of liquor bottles behind the bar. He flagged down the bartender. "Whiskey, neat."

"Any preference on the whiskey, sir?"

"Be smart," muttered Kieran under his breath.

"Jack, of course," the Kentucky native said with a grin.

"Ah, for Christ's sake," groused the National Performance Director. "I thought you'd sorted out that Irish whiskey is the _only_ whiskey."

The glass of amber _aqua vitae_ appeared on the bar in front of Darrick. The bearded coach shook his head. "Y'all are just jealous we do it better."

"Are you two done yet?"

"I know a lost cause when I see one," the coach allowed with a smirk.

"Speaking of nearly-lost causes, Darrick, I want my daughter involved in team activities throughout the time we're here." Gina took another strawed sip of lemon with mint and arched her eyebrow.

"Not sure that falls within my job description."

"Maintaining the positive team bonds and chemistry you've fostered over the last two years? It absolutely does!"

He scratched the back of his neck, shook his head. "Fixing intrapersonal relationships, I mean. Y'all know I've been doing everything I can since I arrived to bring this team closer together, practice harder; to truly believe in themselves. But if Naomi doesn't want to be with Emily, that's a bit beyond my purview."

"Told ya he'd say no," Kieran muttered at her other shoulder.

Undeterred, Gina twisted to face Darrick. "I'm not asking you to play matchmaker, just that when you start assigning swim buddies for their leisure time, you don't listen to Naomi when she demands to remain behind and not go out exploring. It's a fucking cop out and no matter how stubborn she can be, you send her out to explore Doha with the rest of the team. She's become a recluse on par with my Great Aunt Angelica; have I ever told you about her, Kieran?"

Her husband grunted an affirmative and took a drink. "And I don't need a reminder. Also, what the bloody hell is a swim buddy?"

"Well, I assume the swimmers're going to be allowed to see the city when they're not swimming, yeah? And it'd be purely idiotic to let them explore alone—especially that Cook—so they'll have to at least travel in pairs; hence, swim buddies."

"Christ." Kieran pinched his nose.

Amused, Darrick smiled as he sipped his whiskey. "As much as it'll pain you to hear it, Kieran, she's right."

"You're fuckin' right it pains me."

"The meet starts in two days. I'll announce everyone's swim buddies at practice this evening so they can explore responsibly tomorrow." He gulped down the rest of the drink, savoring the burn lit in his throat and chest. "And Gina, I'll make sure that Naomi doesn't have a choice but to participate."

* * *

The Tennessee shirt left behind in Bath, Coach Mercer stood in front of the assembled Great Britain swimming team wearing navy blue and red, a baseball cap tugged low over unruly curls. Gathered in the Al Aziziyah Hotel's appropriately named Triumph meeting room, he waited for an assistant to close the door and made eye contact with the veteran team captains.

"Thank you for gathering the team. While the meet starts on Wednesday, you'll all have tomorrow and next Monday to explore before we had back home. Like usual when we travel, everyone will be required to go out in groups of at least two. And while I see some of you looking around trying to sort yourselves out, the staff has saved you the trouble. We've assigned everyone their groups this time—Ms. Campbell, if you roll your eyes that hard one more time, they're liable to fall out of your head—"

"It's just ridiculous, honestly."

"This is a tremendous opportunity to explore a culture completely different than anything we encountered in Barcelona or Herning; while we're here to win, we're also here to grow closer as a team and take advantage of creating memorable experiences. Just because your races are swum alone in your lane doesn't mean team chemistry isn't important." He cast an encouraging look around the entire room. "I know you've all been on swim teams that bonded together and reinforced each other...and that you've been on ones that wanted to drown each other. Ask yourself: on which type of team did I swim my best?

"What type of team do you want this to be?" Darrick's sweeping gaze lingered on Naomi, then wound its way through the rest of her Bath-based teammates before finishing with the Fitch twins. He frowned, noticing the spectre of tears vanishing from her eyes. Guilt-tripping hadn't been the goal. She squeezed her twin's hand in solidarity, and Darrick addressed the entire team a final time: "Now, here are y'alls' assignments..."

* * *

"I am not spending the rest of the trip visiting parts of the city with her!" protested Naomi, on the verge of yelling. She clenched her swim cap and goggles in one hand, shaking. "She's absolutely insufferable, and I've done all I could to _not_ talk to her for months. This is absolutely insane."

Coach Mercer shrugged, turned to the only other person still standing on the maroon and gold patterned carpet of the meeting room at the hotel. He looked into her eyes. "Can I trust you to handle this more maturely than that, Ms. Fitch?"

The shorter brunette mimicked the shrug. "Sure."

"You couldn't act maturely if it meant winning a thousand quid shopping spree in London when we got back."

"If that's a bet, you don't have enough to cover it when I win, Campbell. And do you really think that would be enough to get me to go shopping with you?"

"Oh, I think I know what it'd take to get you to go shopping with me."

"That right?"

"Ladies, please." Their coach pinched his nose. "If I have to, I'll put Jazz in the group with you to make sure that we don't lose one of our best swimmers. Do you think that will be necessary?"

They exchanged looks—brown eyes searing into blue—and simultaneously shook their heads. Naomi spoke, "No, Coach. We'll be cordial."

"Good. And try to get beyond the Aspire Zone, please? There's more than motorized gondolas in Doha."

* * *

"These gondolas are fookin' amazing, aren't they, Jenkins?"

JJ answered without looking back at Cook, his eyes looking around the small canal at the designer shops and the farcical facsimile façades of Venetian houses that scaled the peaked ceiling in the center of the mall. "If you're a fan of fake imitations of architecture from one of Italy's most historically beautiful and influential cities, then I suppose it could be construed as 'amazing,' but for me the illusion is positively shattered by the motors on the bottom of each gondola."

Cook trailed a hand through the affected aquamarine water of the artificial canal through which their Third Country National gondolier steered their boat. He flicked water at JJ and Freddie over their accordian-folded legs. "Stop ruinin' the illusion, Jay. There's nothin' like this back home."

"Because nobody back home thinks that a Venetian-themed mall complete with gondolas and a theme park is a worthwhile thing to build, let alone spend time in," Freddie suggested flatly.

But Cook ignored the entire dismissal of the Villaggio Mall after hearing two intriguing words. "Did the Fredster just describe my dream home? A theme park?!"

Resigned, Freddie sighed and pointed past Cook's shoulder, over the bow of the gondola. The sandy-haired scoundrel swimmer twisted around to follow the taller boy's gesture. His eyes widened at the large letters spelling out 'Gondolania' as the curved typeface hung tawdry and glittering over a hodgepodge of carnival rides and shops ensconced in the furthest corner of the mall.

Cook whooped! He turned back to the other passengers of the gondola, wrapped his hand behind each of their heads, and pulled them closer until their foreheads bumped as if sharing a secret with them. "Gents, this is about to be best fookin' trip we've had yet."

Releasing them to cheer on the gondolier and urge the tiny motor to move them faster, he ignored the look shared between JJ and Freddie at his expense. "It's going to be a long day," the curly-haired statistician muttered.

"Amen."

* * *

"So much stuff—hey, Effy, check this out!" The brunette glanced up to see Zelda's dirty blonde hair disappear behind a rustle of Kashmiri shawls. Ambivalently, she drifted between the vibrantly colored silk, running fingers through floral and paisley patterns intertwining azure and pink and emerald shades. Effy turned the corner, emerging in an aisle stacked with magnets and kitschy quartz stones of different light pink and cream hues.

Zelda peeked up from the shelves, a sculpted turtle with glittering eyes and a mosaiced shell in one hand, an equally bedazzled owl in the other. Her lips bent downwards with the weight of her decision. "Which one will make a better paperweight on my mum's desk at work?"

Effy paused, turned away without answering. She disappeared from Zelda's view, moving back towards the entrance to the shop, shopping aimlessly. The younger swimmer shrugged, pivoted to her other teammate.

"What do you think?"

"The turtle," her other swim buddy replied without looking up from a collection of fake seashells and sand dollars. Zelda contemplated them both again and concurred, placing the owl back on the shelf.

"Yeah, definitely kitschier. Hey, you want to go check out the rug shop we passed earlier? They looked so soft!"

Emily Fitch glanced up, smiled meekly. "I'm just along with you guys for the ride. Wherever you want to go, Z."

"Alright, well...that wasn't a resounding yes so...what about that art gallery a few stores down?"

"Yeah, okay." Demurring, she let Zelda lead the way to the cashier; soon, they found themselves stepping out of the shop—right into a crush of shoppers surging along the narrow street that wound through the center of the souq.

They stepped into the bustle, dodging locals and tourists while still peering into each different store as the crowd carried them past an electronics shop that appeared, to Emily at least, to be messier than the shed in her parent's backyard; past a tailor shop stacked tile-to-unfinished ceiling with bolts of fabric: midnight blues, black and silver pinstripes, strong charcoals. A pair of men—American military if the Polo t-shirts and low fade haircuts were any indication—stood in the center of the room getting measured for suits.

"Do you think I could pull off a suit?" Zelda mused as they moved on, leaving the tailor shop behind and passing a store selling a myriad of dried fruits and nuts: papaya, mango, kiwi, strawberries, almonds, macadamias, and walnuts filled large containers in rows throughout the store.

Effy pointed laconically at the art gallery, guided them out of the souq's main passage. Emily frowned as they entered a brightly lit gallery, clean white walls adorned with oil paintings. "I've never worn one myself. But if you're confident, you can pull off anything."

"Just take Naomi for example," Effy said softly as they paused in front of a massive desert landscape. "At least once a week she confidently looks like a tropical greenhouse. Emily digs it."

"I do not," the shorter brunette grumbled as moved onto a depiction of a fortress tucked into the side of a wind-battered mountain above an equally harsh valley. "I could care less what Naomi wears."

"Except when it's clothes. Or not."

Emily turned away from the artwork to glare at her friend; behind them, Zelda mimed hiding her face from Emily's distaste as she walked past into the deeper recesses of the souq's largest art gallery. "What's your problem, Ef? We've spent the last half a year _not_ dissecting this. Why now, the day before the largest meet of the year?"

"Just because we haven't spoken about it doesn't mean you haven't been obsessively debating yourself internally about her."

"I have not!"

Emulating the object of their discussion, Effy rolled her eyes. "Would you rather I use 'fastidiously'?"

"That modern lit class you took this semester isn't helping matters."

The blue-eyed brunette shrugged. They continued meandering the lacquered wood floors of the art gallery, studying pieces depicting the souq decades earlier (much the same as it looked in modern day, though Emily doubted it was air conditioned) or flora that couldn't possibly be native to the region. In front of a stylized depiction of the traditional Middle Eastern fishing boat, a dhow, Emily upturned her palm. "Look, if you were in my shoes, what would you do?"

Quirking her lips into a bemused smirk, Effy replied, "I'd start by praying she and Katie don't do anything to get themselves arrested. I think I saw some birds of prey across the square from where the black-and-white dropped us off; fancy doing some falconeering?"

* * *

They didn't complain when Cook insisted that instead of riding on the stallions and camels of the merry-go-round they race one another against the spin of the ride until they made it back to the animals they started at, marked by their deck passes and lanyards twisted and tied together; cobwebbed red ribbons on a golden pole. They didn't complain when Cook wanted to play skee ball, but declared that they should play not by rolling each bronze sphere up the slope, but by trying to throw each ball like they were pitching cricket. And they didn't complain when Cook ushered all three into a swinging Ferris wheel car meant to fit one, perhaps one-and-a-half children.

No, the final straw came when he looked out of the weird Fantasia-meets-Venice vibe of the theme park-within-a-mall, saw the ice rink—tweens taking to the ice in full pads and helmets, taped sticks in gloved hands—and proclaimed they should challenge the team to a game of hockey.

Eyes slowly falling closed in an exasperated blink, Freddie pointed out, "Cook, none of us know how to skate."

"We'll just play in our shoes, then!" He started towards the side of the rink.

"That's not...just, no, okay? We have to swim in the Worlds tomorrow, the last thing we need is to get hurt playing ice hockey _in fucking Qatar_!"

Cook paused, finger slowly rising at the end of his outstretched arm, guiding his friends' gazes to the team banner plastered along the boards. He looked over his shoulder at them. "Is that really their name, d'you reckon?"

"Certainly would be thematically relevant," JJ replied, equally awed at the 'Flying Camels Junior Hockey' banners plastered around their home ice.

"What I wanna know is, is the team named after the ones with the one tit or two?"

"Cook," Freddie groaned. "They're not..."

"Well, you know what I mean!"

"Bactrian camels—the ones you've so deftly described as having two tits," JJ corrected while they walked away from the rink towards a food stand, "—hail from Central Asia. The only camels native to the Middle East are dromedarian, with one hump."

"And here I thought we'd make it through a day without talking about humps," the tall, olive-skinned distance freestyler chided. Freddie shook his head. "Should've known better."

* * *

"I hate having to do maths. We need to sort a proper global currency," Katie Fitch griped as she rummaged through her clutch, assessing how many Qatari riyals she would need to pay.

Ignoring her complaints, Naomi Campbell glared around the contemporary stylings of the lounge, with its shimmering chandeliers, gold filigree separating the different rooms, and moderately uncomfortable couches. "We could have gone to tour the Museum of Islamic Art or the State Mosque, but no. We have to do the fucking most _British_ thing possible in a place as far from home culturally and meteorologically as can be. Remind me again why I agreed to this?"

Snapping her bag shut, Katie matched the glare. "Because it's too fucking hot to be walking around doing things before the meet. And besides, it's quiet here; we need to talk, since you obviously didn't travel for this meet just to swim, did you?"

"No," Naomi admitted quietly. She hoisted the menu, deciding for the both of them (without asking, naturally) that they'd be ordering the 'Contemporary' afternoon tea rather than the 'Oriental' option even if Katie tried to suggest otherwise. "How much is 95 riyals?"

"Did you hear a word I just said? What makes you think I know off the cuff? Christ's sake." Katie examined her own menu. "The 'Contemporary' looks like a proper tea. How'd you hear about this place anyways?"

Naomi's relief at avoiding an unnecessary argument over their order petered out as Katie added the follow-on question. "Sorry?"

"You just happened to know where the best afternoon tea was in the city?"

"It came highly recommended," the blonde said in an attempt to avoid a real answer.

"By who?!"

"Well isn't this a pleasant surprise!" A voice cheerily called from the lobby entrance to the lounge. Naomi's eyes closed; she slowly tapped her head against the wall behind her her. The familiar voice grew closer. "Mind if we join you girls?"

Face reddening, Katie gave murdering Naomi with a piercing look a go. "Not at all, Mrs. Campbell. Fancy seeing you here."


	23. Some Time Alone to Reassess Your Life

**A/N:** WHAT THE HECK IS THIS?! Your eyes do not deceive; it is in fact an update. And substantial-ish? We're still in Doha (story-wise); this was written across three different states this week during my holiday break. I'm incredibly thankful for the support and friendship and overall amazingness that pervades this fandom. You rock, seriously. **Irma** , **mswitsend** , **marsupial** , **dammit naomily** , **fragrantlily**...I could keep going and list over a dozen writers and readers over the last six years that have made this worth it. If you want to let me know what you thought, whether I completely missed the mark, or whatever, feel free to do so. As I've stated, this is the first story I'm not working off a plan. I write as I go, and it's frightening but fantastic. Well, that's mostly true. I knew I wanted to include all the things that they do in Doha because writing about personal experiences is helpful and inspirational. But the plot is its own animal; I just know it's heading inexorably towards Rio. Only another 20 months of in-story time and a couple more big meets to go! Cheers.

I don't own 'Skins.' For real, tho.

* * *

"And she was just the cutest little advocate for justice, standing there outside the school with her homemade pamphlets and a table with a bedsheet thrown over it—Naomi'd written 'CHILDREN ARE PEOPLE 2,' yes the number two instead of the grammatically correct 't-o-o.' So when the principal called me irate and demanded that I reinforce the school's policies about not protesting on school grounds, I pulled her out of school and homeschooled her for four months."

Ignoring the blonde's vehement head-shaking, Katie gawked with appropriate shock. "Only four months? That's not very long."

Flatly, Gina replied, "Well, she can be a right pain in the arse, can't she?"

Tipping their cups, the brunette twin and Gina's husband both acknowledged the statement with a choral, "Amen."

Rolling her eyes, the subject of their conversation waved a hand in her mother's face. "You know I'm sitting right here, yeah?"

"Course I do, dear. Can't a mother wax poetic about her daughter?"

"What you're doing isn't 'waxing poetic.' It's more like the maternal equivalent of _Ode to a Grecian Urn_."

"I was always partial to Byron myself," Gina mused as she blew over the surface of her tea. "Scone, love?"

Grumbling, Naomi took the proffered baked snack, sniffing it theatrically as if convinced her mother would try to poison her. "It's safe?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake just eat the scone, Naomi."

"Fine, fine." With a mouthful of crumbs, Naomi glared at her mother as Katie made the minimal effort possible to stifle her laughter. "You couldn't let me have one day to myself. We're about as far from Bristol as possible and you're hovering around me like a hen and her chicklet."

Gina clapped her hands. "Oooh thank you, dear. Definitely adopting 'chicklet' as your new nickname. Feel free to appropriate as you see fit, Katie."

"Do _not_ 'see fit' if you ever want to swim again competitively," Naomi growled.

"Wouldn't dream of it," the other swimmer swore solemnly...as she winked at Gina.

"Thanks, Mum."

"Don't mention it. But if you must know, Kieran and I had reservations for a separate table regardless of which members of the National Team happened to show up."  
"And we've intruded for long enough as it is," the National Performance Director stood, offering a hand to Gina. "Good luck, you two. Swim fast."

"Thanks, Kieran," Katie replied with a practiced smile.

"Uh, yeah, thanks."

"Most grateful daughter in England, right there," Kieran joked as they retreated from the lounge.

Katie watched them disappear before focusing on the blonde in the foreground of her vision. "So, what're we going to do about you?"

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about, Katie."

The Fitch twin waved a small sandwich in the air angrily. "Don't play dumb with me. You're not here to swim in this meet, which means you're here to screw my sister, one way or another."

Naomi snorted. "And you have a preference for which way I screw her, is that it?"

"Honestly? I'd prefer there be zero screwing of my sister, but that doesn't seem to be an option." Katie took a small bite of the sandwich, washed it down with a sip of tea. "And since you're here, in fucking Doha, I want to make sure that the lesser of two evils happens."

Her teammate hummed through her tea. "And which one would that be, the shagging or the irreparably damaging her and I's relationship?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"That's enlightening."

"Cheers."

Silence shrouded their table, each young woman mulling her next words. A server floated past the table, offering to refill the teapot and any tiers of the scone tower that seemed depleted. Naomi waved the server off without smiling.

"So, am I just supposed to start pouring my heart out, then, or...?"

"Why'd you run away?" Katie cut Naomi off mid-exasperated ramble, her voice sharp. "Is dating my sister _really_ that terrifying? She's a Fitch, for fuck's sake. We're, like, the best."

"Underselling yourself has never been a problem, has it?"

Katie smacked the table, rattling the tea cups in their saucers and knocking a napkin onto the tiled floor. "You're avoiding the question. I swear, Naomi, if you want to avoid all this, we can get the check and go back to Aspire, but you'll not speak or look at Emily again while we're here. And if I see you doing so, I'll ruin you. And if you think that's an empty threat, ask anyone on the team about what I did to Nancy."

"Who?"

"Oh, come on, I know Emily told you about our slut teammate and Shanghai. Cook might've made her unwelcome the rest of that meet, but I positively ruined her reputation across all of England when we got back. She had to move to Sydney and start swimming with the Aussies, only I also know, like, five totally fit guys on their national team (we really did clean up during the London Olympics), so her attempt to flee was ruined at its destination, too."

"Christ. How am I not, like, a pariah wandering the wilderness with a ruck and some tattered trainers yet?"

"Because you're different, Naomi. At least, Emily seems to think you were, talk like you were, act like you were. Until your ridiculous performance on spring break. So, again, what's so scary about my sister?"

Naomi snapped a slice of cucumber into her mouth, crunching on it as she formulated a coherent answer beyond listening various synonyms of 'terrified' in increasing order of syllable count until Katie moved on to a different subject. But Katie's single-minded intent this afternoon seemed unlikely to waver in the face of a verbal game of 'Scrabble.' Naomi fiddled with the curved handle of her teacup.

"This probably won't surprise you, but I've never really been one for successful relationships."

"It doesn't. Continue."

"Emily represents the antithesis of everything I've avoided in relationships. That's what's terrifying, Katie. It's not Emily; she's intelligent and clever and caring and driven and beautiful and empathetic in ways I can only dream of being." A coy smile flitted across the blonde's face. "Don't get me started on her less-obvious talents."

Katie fought an involuntary gag reflex. She restored her composure with a curt, "Like I said before, she's a Fitch. We're the best. Period. Now, go on before I change my mind."

"What scares me is how much she can ruin me. How much she has. I'm not the same person I was when we met in Leeds. Jesus, I can't believe that was almost two years ago. But...we're still so young, Katie—"

"Shut up. Do you love her?"

Naomi gasped indignantly. "Don't tell me to—"

"I'll interrupt you if I want; you're the one who literally ran away from your feelings about _my_ sister. Do you love her?"

"Haven't I just said as much?"

"No, you've been tiptoeing around the 'L' word like it's a poisonous snake. You won't die if you admit it."

"True," Naomi conceded. "However, if I admit it and then things go to shit, I'm just as good as."

Katie pressed a palm to her forehead, swept a stray bang back from her face. She scrunched up her nose, as if the tea'd taken on a decidedly non-aromatic scent. "Naomi, besides your awful decision-making in London in the spring, if for some reason my sister were gracious and forgiving enough to give you a second chance—I wouldn't be, but that's not the important thing—are you planning on intentionally hurting her?"

Her teammate threw her hand up in exasperation. "Of course not! But that doesn't mean I won't do so unintentionally. I'm quite good at that, you know."

"If we lived our lives afraid of what unintentionally arse-ways things we'd do, no one would ever leave their flat, Naomi. Nobody would have friends. Nobody would be _alive_. So?"

"So what?"

"SAY YOU BLOODY LOVE MY SISTER!"

Naomi swiveled in her chair to look apologetically at the one other occupied table, mouthing her regret at Katie's outburst.

The brunette twin took two deep breaths, stood up in between their small two-person table and an identical one next to it. "I didn't mean to shout. My point is, Naomi, that if all you're worried about is how you could possibly offend my sister's sensibilities in the future without meaning to, well...you're a bigger pussy than I thought."  
Silently, Naomi watched Katie storm off towards the lobby, leaving the object of her ire to settle the check.

* * *

Katie cursed internally even as her hips and shoulders began smoothly rolling in harmony to start a strong underwater dolphin kick; her left goggle popped its seal upon diving into the pool, leaking harshly-chlorinated water into her eye. She squeezed her left eye shut and initiated her first butterfly stroke, arms separating from their streamlined position on top of one another in front of the crown of her head. Keeping her elbows just under the surface of the water, Katie let her hands scull back under her body before engaging honed muscles to rip them out of the water and fling her arms forward in a flawless butterfly stroke.

Five strokes later and her hands found purchase on the lip of the wall. She reversed course, surging back down lane two to complete the first phase of the individual medley. Despite the growing irritant of her leaking goggles, Katie maintained her composure, breathing every other stroke in rhythm; as butterfly was her specialty, getting out to a fast start and hoping to hold onto a lead until the final freestyle lap constituted the closest thing to a race strategy Katie could follow in the moment.

She urged herself to increase the tempo of her backstroke, straining to swing each arm through the air faster and further. Staid blue and white flags passed into and out of her vision. _Two strokes, three, flip!_ Katie rotated onto her stomach—and found the wall far closer than she anticipated. _Shit! Shit, shit, flip without crushing your skull, Fitch...now, make this turn count_. She exploded away from the black cross painted upon the white wall, butterfly kicking on her back past the flags before bursting out of the water. As she neared the starting block, Katie again counted the strokes: _two, three, here we go, four...there!_

Fingertips brushing the wall, the elder Fitch twin gulped down a deep breath, readied herself for water to surge up her nose, and executed a backwards somersault. Halfway through the flip, she arrested her momentum, planted her feet on the timing pad, and pushed off on her stomach, shoulders and biceps taught against her ears. Not for the first time, Katie yearned for her sister's talent at the breaststroke; in her peripheral, Katie could see the competition slowly gaining and passing her even as she completed her flip turn and started retracing her strokes along the twenty-five meter pool.

Touching the timing pad with a fully extended glide stroke, adrenaline coursed through Katie's exhausted muscles. _Time to go, Fitch. Show these bitches who can sprint freestyle best._ She induced two deep dolphin kicks upon leaving the wall for the final down-and-back of the race, then transitioned smoothly into a furious flutter kick, churning the water just beneath the surface and kicking up angry spray as her ankles pierced the air. Her arms tried to keep up with the sprinting pace set by her kicking tempo. Katie felt as if her entire body moved up and down on invisible waves while simultaneously powering towards the finish; with every imagined rise and fall, more and more turquoise water disappeared—or seeped into her unsealed left goggle.

Katie completed her final flip turn, keeping her knees tight to her chest, and planting both feet solidly in the center of the cross. _God why can't we swim in short course pools all the fucking time?_ She allowed her frustration with the differences between long and short course races to fuel her underwater kicking; however, as she took two strokes and breathed, Katie glimpsed one other girl trying to slip past her on the final length and redoubled her kicking intensity.

 _No no no no no no no kick kick motherfucking kick. You are_ not _beating me_. She saw the black 'T' on the pool bottom appear and knew there was no time left to second-guess or curse out opposing swimmers; Katie took one final stroke, lunged towards the timing pad...

And emerged from underwater to peer up through a clear goggle and one slowly leaking out water: the digital numbers on the leaderboard wobbled in her vision for a moment, then solidified.

Katie groaned. _No fucking way!_ She slowly submerged again, tugging off her swim cap underwater. Reemerging, she double-checked the board to confirm that, no, there wasn't a malfunction with the timing equipment.

A whistle drew her attention down from the wall to Coach Mercer standing in the middle of a dozen other coaches in various national team outfits all yelling at their respective swimmers. He pumped both fists in unison, yelling incoherent sounds in her direction. Exhausted, Katie weakly returned a fist wave just out of the water. She wagged her head back and forth, stupefied. _I can't believe I just did that._ She leaned over the lane lines to her right and left, shaking hands with her competitors (lane one, a young woman from Japan who placed seventh of eight in the final; lane three on the other side, a peer from Hungary who'd just set the new World Record in the event).

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOD!" A nearly identically-shaped humanoid blob slithered over the lane line and forced Katie underwater a second time since finishing the race. Sputtering, Katie kicked back up to the surface. She hugged Emily tightly.

"Hey, sis."

"Silver's going to look really good on your night stand; amazing amazing amazing!"

"I wanted to win," Katie laughed. "But between Katinka and my goggle leaking something fierce, I'll take second."

"No way! That's even more impressive. Congrats, Katie."

"Fourth isn't anything to be ashamed of, Em. Great work." She pulled her younger sister into another hug, cradling her head in one hand. "Let's warm down, yeah, and then we can cheer on Freds." Emily began to swim away from her down the lane, getting in some easy strokes; Katie lingered, glaring up at Naomi in the stands until the blonde caught her gaze and nodded in silent understanding. She followed Emily in lightly freestyling a couple laps, catching up to her and finishing even with her twin.

"So, we're going back to that restaurant above the souq with the camel stew, right?" asked Emily as they hauled themselves out of the water.

Standing under the bright purple and green swirls painted across the wall of the Hamad Aquatic Centre, Katie rubbed her chlorine-irritated left eye. "Actually, I think Effy mentioned wanting to do the Torch Three Sixty instead. Something about 'gaining a new perspective Doha.' She made a reservation under her name."

The sisters slowly made their way over towards the locker room. Emily nodded. "Well, at least we won't have to deal with a taxi again. Walk over together?"

Banishing any guilty emotions, Katie shook her head. "Actually, I'll meet you there. There's an American I met in the Olympic Village back in 2012 who saw me yesterday and remembered my name, so I figured it was only right to catch up since I obviously made a fucking fantastic first impression."

Emily faked gagging, pointing a finger down her throat. "Just don't take too long to get reacquainted, 'kay? I don't want to be over-scrutinized by Effy without backup."

Katie laughed as she opened the locker room door for them. "I'll do my best. Oh, and they have a strict dress code. Cook said he and the boys tried to drop in for a drink the other day and were turned away; dress to impress, Em."

* * *

 _Dress to impress who?_ Tugging at the shoulder strap of a form-hugging black dress that hit just at the knee, Emily asked herself who she was worth this much preparation as the elevator door opened on the forty-seventh floor of the Torch. Emerging into a narrow corridor under an intricate gold filigree-adorned chandelier, she approached the hostess stand with uncertain, slightly wobbling steps. Emily glared down at the heels borrowed from her sister's suitcase; that Katie packed four pairs of heels and Emily none for a swim meet in Qatar qualified as perhaps the least surprising element of the entire trip, she mused.

"Hi, I think I'm the first one here. The reservation is under 'Stonem?'"

The two restaurant employees behind the stand smiled politely, whispered to each other, and pointed at the circular map of the restaurant. One turned to pluck a menu from its holder on the wall as she addressed Emily. "Actually, the rest of your party has already arrived. Follow me, please."

Perplexed, Emily tried to reconcile how Katie could have possibly beaten her to the restaurant as they wound around tables. To her left, the city skyline of Doha spread across the horizon out the floor-to-ceiling windows as the tables moved incrementally clockwise around the central structure of the building. Distracted by the alluring view, Emily bumped into the hostess.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Your table," the hostess replied with a practiced smile, appearing to be oblivious to Emily's faux pas. Placing the menu down at the open seat of the two-person table—

 _Wait_.

The hostess stepped past Emily, retreating to her post at the entrance, which revealed the only other member of the dinner party, who stood in deferrence and proper etiquette until Emily took her seat. They sat simultaneously without breaking eye contact.

"Hi, Ems."

"I think there's been a mistake," Emily whispered, struggling to not let her gaze wander to soak in the inimitable beauty seated centimeters away.

"Why?" Naomi cocked her head, lips quirking towards a smile. "You look incredible, by the way. Your sister buys great heels."

"They're not Katie's! Is it impossible to think maybe they're mine?"

"Yes."

Naomi's blunt, amused rejoinder seemed to break the tension slightly. They shared a short laugh. "Fair enough. How long have you had this deceit planned?"

"Just since this morning's session finished. Although I resent the insinuation I was in any way trying to deceive you. Any use of Katie to suggest that this would be a group outing was purely to ensure you did not find an excuse to skip out."

"So, in other words, to deceive me?" Emily piqued an eyebrow, struggling to not slip into the banter they'd cultivated to a fluent dialect during their year of practicing together and tiptoeing around each other and eventually dating. _She ran from how she felt about you—if she ever felt that way in the first place. Don't forget how that felt._

"No, it was..." Naomi raised a single finger in protest, considered the entire situation, and shrugged. "Okay, sure, to deceive you. In the name of righting wrongs and having an honest conversation."

Emily barked a laugh at that. "Because when you've been lied to, you're definitely in a position to believe the rest of the conversation's veracity."

"Technically, I never lied to you about the members of this dinner party; that'd be Effy or your sister," said Naomi impetuously. "Though, if we're not careful, I swear they're going to somehow prop you up outside so that the entire restaurant can appreciate your beauty as it rotates."

"I'm a piece of architecture, now, is that it?"

"May I take your orders?" A waiter materialized next to the table, notepad in hand.

"No, actually. Neither of us has even cracked this," Naomi opened and closed the menu dramatically, "yet. So, just give us another couple minutes? Cheers." The waiter made a noise of displeasure and departed to check on another table. Naomi flipped open her menu and began evaluating her options as she answered Emily's question. "You're hardly architecture. And upon further consideration, I don't really want to share you, so maybe that metaphor for your beauty tonight was a bit off-base."

Emily crossed her arms on the menu, refusing to be distracted yet. "Flattery won't erase what happened, Naomi."

The edge in Emily's voice raised a silent alarm to Naomi. She met the brown eyes of her dining partner—it didn't feel proper to say this was a date. "No, it won't; you're absolutely right...do you remember Barcelona?"

Brows knitting together at the non sequitur, Emily replied, "Which part?"

"The first night...when we all got pissed on sangria and stumbled home together. Before you kissed me for the first time." An older couple at a table near them glared over judgmentally. Naomi reciprocated the gesture; they hurriedly returned to cutting their steaks. "Do you remember what we did on the walk back?"

"I recall lots of sangria, honestly. What am I forgetting?"

"There was a mural, painted on the side of a building. Like Salvador Dali had decided to drunkenly take up graffiti one evening."

Recognition bloomed in Emily's eyes. "Yeah, I remember it. So?"

"So we saw the same thing. Like, we were just completely in sync on it. I think that was when I knew."

"Knew what, Naomi?" Emily took a sip of water. "What's your point?"

"That's when I knew you were the most dangerous person I'd ever met. And you kissing me when we got back to our room that night did nothing to refute it, nor did anything else. If anything, everything after that just made it more and more obvious: you could destroy me, Emily Fitch, without trying."

Flabbergasted, the brunette smacked the menu, hissed at Naomi, "I could 'destroy' _you_?! You did destroy me, the minute you ran away. We'd been together a year; do you understand how hard it was to keep it to myself that long? Barcelona. Denmark. Christ, every day in practice when you'd look over in my direction during a set. And then when you had a chance to be brave and just listen to me admit how I really feel—not even have to say anything, mind, just hear me vocalize what I think you already knew—you were gone so fast there were burnt rubber tracks on the dance floor, like one of those God awful Faster Furious movies Cook and Moose like so much."

The waiter interrupted a second time. "Do you know what you'd like, now?"

"I'll have the Mediterranean Grill, please," Naomi said in a rush.

"Uh, I'll have the same," Emily hastily handed him the menu, urging him to leave so she could continue laying into Naomi. As he retreated, Emily took a quick drink to wet her lips. "Which, that would have been enough, honestly, but no. You just had to go the extra mile and ignore me at practice on a daily basis for the last nine months. God knows why you couldn't just switch clubs or something."

"Because I wouldn't be around you, Emily," Naomi whispered.

"You don't get to have your cake and eat it, too. You can't get cold feet just when I'm about to make things seem way more serious than you can apparently handle...and then want to not be around me. It's one or the other, Naomi. And another thing—"

"And if I'm ready, now?"

Emily opened her mouth to continue her invective, but words escaped her. She stuttered, trying to get back in a rhythm, but found her disbelief dissipating; anger replaced it. "You expect me to have just put things on hold and not be broken-hearted and found someone who isn't scared shitless of commitment? I hate sounding like my sister, but for once...not to brag or anything—"

"But Fitches are the best. Period. Yeah, Katie reinforced that a couple days ago. Right before she called me a pussy." Naomi clenched her fists in her lap, willing her body to not shake in fear, to not betray that the exact scenario Emily'd just suggested was her absolute worst nightmare.

"She's not one for mincing words, and she's not wrong."

"No. Look, Emily, you're right. I was scared; I _am_ scared. We're in uni. How can we possibly know what or who we'll want in fifty years, let alone five? How can someone feel this sure about a partner this young? What if one of us fucks it and things fall apart by accident? Will it have been worth it? None of this makes sense."

"Is this supposed to reassure me and make me want to crawl across the table and take you right here on the rotating floor of a five-star restaurant?"

"No. Well, I wouldn't object, but I think management would take umbrage." Naomi winked playfully, then quickly returned to her ongoing attempt at a stoic visage. "There's so many things that can go wrong..."

"Naomi, please stop talking. You're only making it worse."

"But there are also so many things that can go right." Naomi exhaled, started to reach across the table for Emily's hand, but thought better of it and left her right arm resting awkwardly along the table in the de facto neutral zone between their place settings. "In London, in the spring, all I could think about were the ways we could go wrong. So of course it immediately became a self-fulfilling prophecy." Naomi turned both palms up, helpless. "And I could still compose my own ninety-five theses with the ways we end up in disaster. But the difference between now and May is this: I can also think of a separate list of ninety-five ways we go so right, that nothing else matters."

Despite repeated silent self-admonishment, Naomi felt an unnatural lump forming in her throat, constricting her ability to breath or talk in complete sentences without crying. _Don't cry. Don't cry, Naomi Campbell. You promised._ She took a shaky breath. "And given the choice, I want to make one of those scenarios come true. But I can't do it by myself, Emily."

Emily blinked rapidly, chanting her own internal mantra in opposition to showing any emotion. Naomi's statement lingered; she'd have to answer sooner or later, either obfuscating and dancing away from committing to trying again, or jumping back into a rip current of emotions with both feet.

"Two Mediterranean grills," a server held identical plates aloft, waiting for their acknowledgement to place them on the table.

Both young women smiled gratefully for the interruption, gesturing their assent to be served. They ate in silence, Naomi eating slowly and watching Emily's features for any hint that she was moved off her anger and disappointment by her own testimony. On the other side of the table, Emily hastily cut into her chicken, blazing through the skewered meat and vegetables as well as the bed of saffron rice beneath them.

Their waiter appeared a couple minutes into the meal, asking how they found the food. Two nods mid-chew suggested both women found the dinner satisfactory; however, they paused when he offered a drink. "We have several mocktails, soft drinks, coffee, our special gold leaf tea..."

Emily swallowed, frowning. "Sorry, what kind of tea?"

Naomi, cutting off the waiter's response, attempted to clarify, "As in, tea with gold leaf in it?"

"Well, yes, of course." A flurry of raised eyebrows, quirked heads, and expressive eye movements culminated in Naomi ordering two cups. "Very good, two cups."

The brunette twin vocalized their shared awe once the waiter moved out of earshot. "There's no way there's actual gold in the tea."

"I mean, there's over-the-top, and then there's just obnoxious," Naomi agreed, happy they'd found common ground in the shift of a fancy dinner rendezvous into a miniature theatre of the absurd. Naomi sought solace in continuing to slowly clear her plate as Emily took her last bite of rice.

Nevertheless, when their waiter returned, he brought a saucer in each hand; the cup of hot tea balancing in each had several small flecks of gold leaf floating water lily-like on the surface. He cleared their respective plates as they blew on each cup to cool it.

"This is absurd," breathed Emily as she took a sip. "It just tastes like tea."

"Mmmhmm," concurred Naomi. "Horrible affectation just to charge unwitting tourists like us too much for a cuppa."

Emily rolled her eyes with a smile. "Your vocabulary knows no bounds."

"I think that's the nicest thing you've said to me all night."

Naomi's counterpart froze mid-sip. Emily slowly lowered the gold leaf tea—the tea, she corrected herself—to the table. "Naomi, it's not that simple. We can't just pick right back up as if nothing ever happened. You get that, right?"

 _No_. "Yeah, course. I..." The blonde mulled the correct way to elucidate her thoughts. "I know I hurt you, Emily. I drove you away, even though you'd done nothing to instigate such a spiteful reaction. Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!"

"Your smirking eye roll at my diction was all—you did it again! What?"

Emily shook her head, turned and stared out at the oil dark sky punctuated by the eclectic modern skyline of downtown Doha; just below them, construction equipment lay silent in the middle of a soccer pitch. The scenery allowed Emily to compose herself, if only barely. "This. This is what I'm worried about. It's so easy to slip into this intimacy with you, like nothing is wrong, but underneath...everything's so fragile. There are cracks there I don't know how to fix."

"Then we'll mend them together." Naomi worried her bottom lip, brushed a finger along Emily's knuckles to bring her attention back to the table instead of the city lights outside the restaurant. Brown eyes bobbed in a reservoir of tears. Giving up hope of holding back hers, Naomi smiled. "Because I love you, Emily."

"Fucking hell." Emily brushed at the corners of her eyes with her thumb. "Excuse me, but I've got to...sorry." She tapped the waiter on the elbow as he passed, returning to the table with the bill. "The loo?"

He pointed her in the proper direction as Naomi handed him several hundred pastel-colored riyal notes. "Keep it." She rose, heading the opposite direction he did, winding her way around other tables towards the restrooms. Pushing open the women's, Naomi peered around the corner to find Emily leaning on the counter next to a motion-activated sink; its sensor seemed to be malfunctioning as it turned on every time Emily went to wipe her eyes again.

"I didn't mean for that to upset you?" Naomi phrased it as a question, slowly approaching the counter and making eye contact in the mirror. "I settled up, so we can go it you like."

"I would, yeah." Emily smiled sadly. "But to be clear, there won't be shagging tonight. Or tomorrow before we fly home. I don't think that's one of the cracks we have to mend."

Naomi chuckled, wet a paper towel, and handed it to her teammate. "Just because I treat you to a fancy dinner with gold leaf tea doesn't mean I expect sex. However—"

Another restaurant patron pushed open the swinging door, appraised the two of them with disdain, and scurried to the furthest possible stall. Naomi rolled her eyes mightily. "However, let's at least head back to the hotel, yeah?"

"Yeah. I...you know I feel the same way, Naomi, right? It's just...the pain doesn't magically disappear."

"You mean dissipate."

"I mean, you're a right fucking know-it-all, and we'll need to do something about it. But in the meantime, if we start mending the cracks..."

Naomi stepped behind Emily, crossed towards the door, and extended a hand back to her. "You won't be far behind."

She met Naomi's gaze briefly, smiled; Emily took her hand and they stepped back into the restaurant.


End file.
